Bright Line
by AzelmaRoark
Summary: Being a leader is hard. Being a leader when your mind keeps slipping back to what happened, what you couldn't stop...Robin always did his best, but with each additional mistake it's harder to believe that his best will ever be enough. Companion to CD.
1. Free Variable

_(Explanation. Important—please read.) _

This story is a companion to Cognitive Dissonance and they are being written simultaneously. They occur at the same time, with very different points of view (Bright Line is Robin's point of view; Cognitive Dissonance is Terra's). Neither story is necessary to comprehend the other, though they are best read together. This is an alternate universe which begins just after the episode "Titan Rising" and goes from there with major changes.

Additionally, I feel that I should caution readers of potentially disturbing content in both this story and its companion. Both contain moderate language, implied rape and a sexual relationship between an adult and a minor. Consider yourself warned.

Finally, a super special thank you to my beta readers. Remix17 and CidGregor, you are dear friends to me and I cannot thank you enough for your help with characterization and canon checks. And to Avea, I simply owe my firstborn, several times over. Thank you for absolutely everything, and most of all for being an amazing friend.

_

* * *

_

_Shades of grey, wherever I go_

_The more I find out, the less that I know_

_Black and white is how it should be_

_But shades of grey are the colors I see_

-Billy Joel, "Shades of Grey"

* * *

**Bright Line**

**Chapter One: Free Variable

* * *

**

It was never a good sign when your computer started blinking.

Those articles weren't going to scan themselves, his desk was a horrible mess and he had somewhere to be. The "somewhere to be" part was about to take precedence over all the rest, or else they really would get worried. Though, all things being equal, he supposed he'd rather stay here and work. But he _didn't_ want to deal with that blinking computer. It wouldn't be so bad if it was an error message. System meltdown, perhaps. That, he could deal with: working feverishly to save all of their information and get the security up before anyone even noticed. But not that blink. It wasn't for anything so wholesome as a virus attempting to shred their hard drive. No, it was the blink signaling an incoming communication.

He picked up the book he was consulting, holding it deliberately in front of the button. Then, he turned his chair around and pretended that blinking, red lights didn't exist. Then, he wondered if the psychological benefits of throwing the whole computer out the window would outweigh how mad Cyborg would get.

It was still blinking.

Really, some people needed to learn to just leave him alone while he was _working_. Though honestly, his friends were pretty good about that, for the most part. Even Beast Boy had given up on trying to get him to waste hours upon hours playing video games. Why he wanted to blow up fake people with fake weapons when he fought for his life on a weekly basis was beyond Robin. But thankfully, Beast Boy hadn't asked him in at least a month. He knew better. Unfortunately, Robin didn't have _everyone _quite so well trained. Namely, the person behind the blinking computer screen.

He put his face in his hands, sighing audibly. From a logical standpoint, a blinking light wasn't going to stop him from doing his work, sure. But knowing it was there was going to keep making him mad. And it was not about to go away, not till he answered. He'd probably keep calling all night.

"Freck."

He twisted around in his chair, slowly, as if taking just a little more time would make it seem like he wasn't giving in. Of all the inconsiderate, tactless, unpleasant people in the world, Robin had to get stuck with the worst of them all.

_So much for peace and quiet. _

"I was beginning to think you were dead."

"And wouldn't you like that," said Robin. He propped his elbow on the desk, leaned his cheek into his palm…and glared.

A heavy sigh and a pause. "Not nearly as much as you tell all of your friends, no. Though I'd venture to say that it's not a bad assumption, given the situations you've been finding yourselves in lately," said Bruce. He looked kind of tired, which was more than a little out of character. Sitting there in a black cotton t-shirt, he almost looked like somebody's father. An outside observer would never guess in a million years who he was, but of course Robin could see it. The rigidity of his muscles, how utterly alert he was. He could break your neck before you could blink.

Robin put his hand down and sat up straighter. "Why do you _care_? We've been handling everything fine, just fine. It's no big deal: just stupid kids' stuff."

"You _are _a kid, Richard."

"Don't call me that," said Robin.

"I'll call you whatever I want, _Richard_. And how about you take that ridiculous mask off?" It would have sounded harsh to anyone who didn't know Bruce, but he didn't mean it that way. Besides, his eyes looked amused.

"No," said Robin. Let him decide which statement he was referring to.

Another sigh. "Fine. Enough teen drama for one day: excuse me for not indulging you further. How about we talk about something you like…"

"We could talk about ending this call. I'd like that," he interrupted. He reached for something--anything--on his desk, something to put in his hands. The only thing that wasn't a folder or a textbook was a set of Chinese stress balls that Raven had given him last month, as a joke ("Why yes, Robin, I _am_ trying to tell you something."). He started tossing one of them from one hand to the other, the bells inside jangling slightly with each impact; it gave him something else to look at--though, of course, his reflexes were so good that he didn't really need to look.

"Cut the attitude, _now_," said Bruce, though he still didn't look outright _angry_. The left corner of his jaw got tighter when he was angry.

_You're three thousand miles away, old man; I'd love to know what you're going to do about it. _"Just…okay, sure, what do you want to talk about?"

"As I was saying, how about something you like, such as stopping-the-bad-guy?"

"You're one to talk," he muttered, leaning back in his chair and tossing the stress ball higher. The bright silver surface stood out in contrast against the rest of the room (he didn't like the light on--a computer screen was enough). It spun in an interesting way when he turned his wrist like _this_…

"I heard that," he said, raising an eyebrow. It would have been a fairly intimidating warning--five years ago. Bruce looked annoyed, though Robin wasn't sure if it was due to his words, the ball, or both. Probably all of the above. Bruce spent most of his time annoyed in general.

"Sorry." …_ Not._ The little bells were kind of neat, too. He tried to make them sound as obnoxious as possible.

"Will you _please_ stop doing that?" Bruce glared.

"Stop what?" Robin smirked and let the ball roll around in his hand, over his fingers. Well, this was fun, at least.

Bruce seemed to decide that the best way to deal with the noise was to ignore it. That was a pretty novel concept, because Robin wasn't used to being ignored. "So, want to tell me about this Slade person?"

Robin fumbled his catch. The silver ball ricocheted off his hand and landed on the floor behind him with a discordant clang. He turned and scooped it up then paused, eyes and jaw clenched, concentrating on breathing.

"I guess that's a 'no,' then? Richard?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much a '_no_ '," said Robin, reluctantly turning back to face him. Hand under the desk so Bruce couldn't see it, he squeezed the stress ball until his fingers went numb. "Look, I've got a lot of things to do and…"

Bruce leaned forward in his chair, eyes narrowing. "What could you possibly have to do?"

That look, it was just the worst. As if he were a lab rat that had been given some unknown chemical and Bruce was going to record how he reacted to it. That look reminded Robin of why they didn't live together anymore. "I really hope that was sarcasm. But seriously, I have to go. I'm supposed to make an appearance to give Terra her communicator--the usual leader stuff." They really were going to start wondering where he was. Not that he wasn't shamelessly using that fact as a pretext to get rid of Bruce. Didn't matter.

"Terra?"

Robin shrugged. _Oh, nobody, just a waif we found in the desert who's probably going to kill us all by dropping a boulder on our heads._ "New girl. Really annoying. Hogs the bathroom like you wouldn't believe. I have_ got_ to go." He looked pointedly at his watch for good measure.

"Fair enough. Will you call me in two weeks? And_ actually_ call this time?"

"On the phone?" Robin had stood up already and was trying to think of things to do that would involve ignoring the computer.

"I'd have to say that I prefer the vidlink: helps me make sure that you still have all your limbs," said Bruce. The lab rat look was gone now, fortunately.

"Fine. Whatever. Vidlink, sure, gotta go."

"Well, I guess I'll…talk to you in two weeks." He shifted uncomfortably, seemed to want to say something else--and swallowed it. Another expression he hated to see on Bruce. It was just unnatural for the man to look that … helpless. He ignored it. "Take care of yourself, Richard. Sleep. Please."

"Sleep later. Talk to Terra now. Don't call me that." His finger hovered over the button, the one that would bring silence. Lovely, lovely silence.

"When you start speaking in sentence fragments, I know it's time to leave you alone…"

_Click._

_Bye, Bruce. _Robin kind of liked having control of the situation for once.

* * *

"Where have _you_ been?"

He shrugged. "Just taking care of some stuff."

Cyborg rolled his eyes. "Some 'stuff' that's more important than welcoming Terra?" He looked down at Robin with a patronizing smile.

"Since I'm here, I guess Terra's more important, right?"

"Well, get out of the doorway already: she's coming," hissed Beast Boy with poorly-suppressed excitement.

He nodded and took a few steps into the room and suddenly couldn't see anything as the automatic door slid shut behind him. It wouldn't take him long to get used to it, of course--and anyway, he knew how to fight in the dark, if it came to that. It was almost easier, in some ways, because usually your opponent would be much slower, and if you were prepared…

A sliver of light filtered through from the hallway, and got larger and larger as the door opened again--revealing Terra and Raven. Of course, Raven was completely serious about it, as if she genuinely had no idea what was going on; that's why they had given her the job of leading Terra up here (Beast Boy had wanted to do it but he'd been immediately outvoted). She stepped across the threshold of the doorway and indicated that Terra should follow her.

_I should have heard them coming--why didn't I hear them coming? _

"Umm…where are we?" Terra squinted into the darkness, her posture awkward and hesitant.

In an easy, fluid motion, Raven flipped the light switch by the door. "Your room," she said. She smiled gravely as if this was a fact taught to four year olds on their first day of preschool, and Terra was clearly an idiot for not already figuring it out.

That was their cue to yell out, "_Surprise!" _As loudly as humanly possible. Robin didn't really do yelling (if he had to raise his voice he'd rather it be to shout orders) but, in this case, it went along with the whole leader thing. So he did it anyway.

Terra balked at the clamor, appropriately stunned. For a split second, she looked frightened (her eyes twitched a bit, in a highly unpleasant way, and the muscles in her shoulders got tense). Then, it was over and she was back to being amazed. It was honestly kind of cute, he had to admit. Terra was so little, almost delicate, to the point where you felt like you had to be so careful with her. She was like some really expensive doll.

Interestingly, she also held the same captivating power as a really expensive doll: at least, for most of the team. Robin knew better. Getting distracted by the shiny new toy was exactly what _he_ wanted them to do. And Robin had no intention of being anybody's fool.

Not again. Never again.

Terra found something to say at that point. "You guys did all this…for me?" Her eyes darted from one piece of furniture to another, unbelieving, hardly daring to hope.

Well, it _had_ taken a bit of work. Though, honestly, the hardest thing about the project was keeping Beast Boy from telling her about it. It had been his idea, of course. A hushed conversation while Terra was in the shower, with him passionately declaring that she shouldn't have to sleep on the couch or in a spare room. He was transparently, obviously obsessed with her. Personally, Robin didn't understand it. He wasn't in the business of giving in to such ridiculous (and potentially dangerous) emotions.

"Yeah, since you helped save our home and all--we thought you deserved your own room," said Beast Boy. He tried to look cool, failed miserably, and wasn't quite aware that he had failed miserably. Somebody really needed to tell him how stupid he looked standing so close to her and blushing like that...but if Terra cared in the least, she didn't show it.

Robin chose that moment to put Beast Boy out of his misery. "You also deserve one of these," he said.

Terra reached for the communicator, her face clouded with some unidentifiable emotion. Experimentally, she held it in her palm, as if a complete stranger had handed her a dead fish and told her it was very important. Huge, blue eyes finally looked up at Robin--and kept staring. "So, I'm…"

"A Teen Titan," said Robin. "Glad to have you on the team." He extended his hand to her.

Terra officially had the weakest handshake in existence. Which wasn't any great surprise, really. But moreover, she had this unsettling, imperceptible little tremor that seemed to originate somewhere between her fingers. Her hands were really small. There were too many bones.

He let go as quickly as he could without making Terra think it was something she did…

The others took this as their cue to attack Terra, in varying degrees of glee. To her credit, she seemed to be getting used to it: the inevitable consequences of that spontaneous excitement that she generated wherever she went (probably without realizing it). She certainly was infectious, that was for sure. Even Robin liked her. Sort of. And yet, still, _something_--something important…

"Congratulations, Terra," said Raven from behind, keeping her usual safe distance. She paused, thoughtfully, as if she was engaged in a debate (and from the little that Robin knew about the way her mind worked, she probably _was_, literally). Then she smiled, one of her rare, genuine ones, and at least Robin didn't have to worry about the two of them trying to kill each other anymore. "You earned it."

Terra smiled. Not one of the smiles she reserved for Beast Boy, or even one that she'd toss out to just anybody. It was careful, cautious. _Calculated?_ No, he didn't think so. Strike that: definitely not calculated. She wasn't smart enough for that.

It was something, though. He suddenly felt a hazy sensation in his temple, and from across the room Raven gave him a pointed look. _Great, again with the empathy._ Whatever uncertainty he had just picked up, she was in on it, now.

Fortunately, Cyborg saw fit to break up a potentially awkward moment by offering waffles. That was fine with him. He supposed he hadn't eaten in awhile and he was in no mood for Raven-questions that he had no intention of answering.

"Can they be non-dairy waffles?" Beast Boy, of course.

"I'm thinking somewhere between 'no way,' and 'not in this lifetime'," said Cyborg.

And cue Fight Number Sixteen of the day. If they all kept things going at this rate, they might break twenty by the end of the night. Especially if Raven decided to insult Terra. That would be interesting. Though, Robin sincerely hoped that they were both finished insulting each other: it gave him a headache, and he was _not_ taking sides. Besides, Starfire didn't like it, which would be one _more_ member of the team upset.

They were already halfway out the door, with Cyborg and Beast Boy yelling at each other and Starfire trying to get them to stop and Raven looking some combination of bored and annoyed.

A high-pitched, bubbly voice. "Sounds good! I'll catch up in a minute, okay?" Terra grinned and waved cheerfully.

Robin wasn't sure if anyone else had heard that, but he nodded and left Terra alone in her room because he was the leader and that was what he was supposed to do. Maybe she was just overwhelmed. That made a lot of sense, if he could just get himself to be objective about it. He had no _reason_ to draw any other conclusion--no concrete reason, anyway.

Something poked him between the shoulder blades. "Hey, you."

Robin turned around, immediately face to face with the vague outline of Raven's face beneath her cloak. "What?" He could have phrased that better. Alright, maybe it was even a little rude, but he didn't feel like being probed tonight.

"Whatever you were doing before you went to Terra's room, I'm _going _to find out," said Raven, calmly and seriously.

_Great._ Robin walked a bit faster to catch up with Starfire. She needed a fellow mediator in the Beast Boy versus Cyborg battle, anyway.

But something within him didn't want to leave Terra alone in her room. Quiet and insistent, a nagging little doubt: that vague intuition of _something's wrong_. He was absolutely no stranger to it, though he'd been laughed at enough times to have learned that it was best kept to himself. It wasn't even a concrete thought, he supposed, because Terra had never done anything explicitly off-base: at least, never in front of him. (_Well, of course: she's probably not _that_ stupid.) _Usually, nothing ever came of his suspicions--on occasion, it even turned out to be somewhat funny--but he had been taught the hard way not to ignore them. The last time he ignored something like this--

Well. He wasn't going to do it again, in any case.

It was settled, then: Robin had to do something, and waffle-eating wasn't anywhere on the list.

"But friends, surely you might devise some sort of…negotiation, that would allow you both to enjoy the eating-of-waffles in your preferred method?" Poor Starfire. She flitted from one friend to the other, more than a little disconcerted, periodically tapping them when they continued to ignore her.

She noticed him and grinned broadly. "Ah! Friend Robin! I am having difficulty, you see…"

"It's okay, Starfire. Really. They're being immature--just let them embarrass themselves."

Starfire's classic, righteous expression suggested that she was in no mood to let a fight ruin her evening, but she sighed and stopped poking them. "Sometimes, I wonder how we are capable of engaging in hostilities over such trivial things," she said, a bit sadly.

Robin nodded. "You're absolutely right. We should rename ourselves 'The Toddler Titans'."

She didn't get it, but that was okay. A long time ago, they had reached an understanding that the very nature of her situation meant they were both going to confuse each other. Sometimes an explanation was in order but it often took so long that the joke wasn't really funny anymore. Starfire always took it completely in stride, though, and he tried to do the same, though Robin did _not _like being confused. But some people were just so friendly that you ended up doing things you wouldn't normally do--reflexively.

As they turned the corner, Robin went one way and everybody else went the other. He didn't get very far, however, because one step in the wrong direction earned him a genuinely confused look from Starfire, and not one of her 'This-is-Something-from-Earth-that-I-Don't-Understand' looks. "Robin? Where are you going?"

_Okay. Proper word choice is key_. "Oh, I'm just going to the gym for a while, I think."

Her green eyes were immediately, absolutely hurt. That killed him, right there. Seeing Starfire upset was like experiencing physical pain. "Do you…not wish to dine with us?"

"Oh, no, that's not it at all," he answered soothingly. "It's just not good for me to eat if I haven't exercised first. Really bad for my stomach, seriously." He was counting on Starfire not having much knowledge of human biology.

"That is most regrettable," said Starfire, nodding in understanding. "Perhaps you will join us later, yes?"

Robin nodded, hoping his smile was as friendly as he needed it to be. "Absolutely. I wouldn't miss it. Thanks for understanding, Star." He hurried down the hall and around the corner before she could smile at him again. That smile killed him, it just killed him. He hated lying to her. Lying to someone who trusted you that implicitly was just…wrong.

When he'd waited a reasonable amount of time, he turned around and headed in the other direction, past the corridor that led to the kitchen.

He'd already run eight miles this morning, anyway.

The main computer room was dark, the eerie glow emitted from the huge screens…but not enough to actually light the room. Robin quietly closed the door behind him--and locked it. An unidentifiable and unwelcome emotion washed around somewhere in the back of his mind as he started typing.

He didn't know what to think about tiny, adorable Terra--yet. For now, she was wholeheartedly receiving the benefit of the doubt, because in the first place Robin wouldn't have allowed her on the team if he hadn't been reasonably sure of her integrity…and in the second place, it was his _job_ to give people the benefit of the doubt.

Or, at least, it was his job to make people _think_ they were getting the benefit of the doubt.

Personally, Robin was taking no chances. It wasn't really distrust that led him to change all the security, but he definitely felt better after he had programmed all the main computers not to recognize Terra's access codes. She could get into her laptop, check email, play games, and that kind of thing--but if she tried to get into anything classified, she would be stopped, and he would know about it.

Not that Robin really thought that she was smart enough to find the security system anyway--or to know what to do with it once she found it. That was one of the things that still didn't fit and compelled him to believe that he had drawn the wrong conclusion. It _made no sense_ for Terra to get into their computer. If she were going to do something, she'd destroy them all in a giant mudslide, maybe. Or put rubber cement in Raven's shampoo.

Either way, he felt better after he did it. Sure, he was paranoid, but paranoia kept you alive. Not like this was the first time he had locked one of the team out of the computer. They never figured it out. And he was better safe than sorry.

The whole thing hadn't really taken that long: he supposed that he could conceivably head back to the kitchen and make up some story about the gym equipment being broken, or something. It would be nice to talk to Starfire.

No. He didn't _deserve_ to talk to Starfire. He couldn't talk to her. She was so child-like, so innocent. He couldn't stand the thought of destroying that, and after-- He couldn't talk to her. And Raven would immediately know something was up and demand to know what. Besides. The stress was good: it kept him wary. Kept him from making stupid mistakes. From--

Robin went to the gym.


	2. Extension of a Predicate

**Bright Line**

**Chapter Two: Extension of a Predicate

* * *

**

"Hey! 'Sup, Robin?"

He _hated_ that word. It was something that people said when they didn't know what to say but wanted to have a conversation anyway. Besides, he never knew how to respond to it. Mostly because nobody ever _really_ wanted to know 'what was up'—so if you answer, you sound like an idiot, but if you try to make some snappy comeback, you sound like more of an idiot.

Unless you were Raven, who never sounded like an idiot.

Of course, he still hadn't answered Beast Boy, which was probably the most idiotic option of all, but there was nothing to do about it now because Beast Boy hadn't noticed.

"So, I was thinking that me an' Terra could maybe—well, I don't know. I guess I was sort of going to ask her if she wanted to…" He blushed and became very interested in a spot over Robin's left shoulder. "Do you think she'd go to a movie with me if I asked?" The last sentence spilled over, not unlike the glass of juice Beast Boy had been pouring the other day: the one he'd forgotten to _stop_ pouring when Terra stepped into the room.

Robin stared at him for a moment, trying to process that. A useless effort: it would take him a hundred years to exemplify all the things that were wrong with this situation. He settled for looking really confused. "I…err…but why are you asking _me_? This really seems more like a Cyborg question or a Starfire question." He considered. "Or even a Raven question."

Because, in the end, if you were still alive after asking, she probably _would_ know what to do.

Finally able to look him in the face again, Beast Boy shrugged. "Starfire's still asleep, I am _not_ asking Raven 'cos I think she's in her room and I'd like to keep my organs on the inside of my body…and I couldn't find Cyborg."

"So you settled for me: must have been desperate." He was joking, but it was at least half true. Robin didn't know about things like this; he just didn't. In the first place, he didn't see what the appeal was. In the second place, he wasn't very good at it, and _everyone _knew it. And in the third place, he didn't _want_ to. He'd seen enough…

"Yeah, well, I had to talk to somebody, or I was gonna talk to _her_, and that probably isn't such a good plan, do ya think?"

"Fair enough," said Robin, focusing on the conversation, actually grateful that Beast Boy had derailed that train of thought. "Well, first of all, I hope you didn't have any plans with her for this morning, because she's mine for the next two hours or so."

Beast Boy took a second to process that and drew exactly the wrong conclusion, pointing a shaking, scandalized finger at him. "But…but I thought…okay, that's just wrong!"

"Oh, oh no, not like that," Robin amended hastily. "She's all yours as far as that…_stuff_ is concerned, trust me." _Such precision of language_, he mocked himself silently. Robin didn't say 'stuff.' What was _wrong_ with him? This was why he didn't like conversations like these: they made him stupid. And made him think about—_shut up._

"Whew, you scared me there for a minute," said Beast Boy, laughing. He leaned against the door to the gym, tracing his finger along a crease in the wall. That was about as close as Beast Boy ever (voluntarily) got to the gym.

"You, umm, definitely don't have to worry, yeah." There was nothing wrong with Terra, but Robin wasn't interested. Well, first of all, it was really creepy how her bones stuck out in places that they shouldn't. But moreover, he just wasn't interested. Not in her, not in anyone. It didn't take any multivariable calculus to figure out that Terra made Beast Boy act much differently than he normally did, but understanding why was another matter. It would be easier to learn a foreign language at a rock concert while being attacked by fire ants.

"I was pretty sure you didn't mean it that way, of course—just checking." _(Sure you were.) _"But seriously, Robin, what _did_ you mean?"

Robin checked his watch. She was late. "Well, she's got some work to do with me this morning. Today's her first official day of training and we've got a lot of ground to cover."

Scowling, he looked up from the crease in the wall abruptly. "Oh, c'mon, don't drag her into all that on her second day! She's so totally not ready for it, I'm positive; you're just gonna scare her."

"When would you like for me to drag her into it? When we're all dead because her powers decided to stop listening to her?" Terra's physical size was the really unsettling thing about her powers. The idea that such a little girl could just _destroy_ whole cities with the right motivation. It was disturbing. Sick. Even somewhat cruel. Some kind of twisted irony, an English teacher might say, but Robin was no writer. He knew what everyone else on the team was capable of: with the incomplete exception of Raven, but at least _she_ had no delusions about how much she herself didn't know, and couldn't control. But Terra's powers were a total variable, unexplored and unexplained…and that bothered him.

Beast Boy sighed, downtrodden expression indicating that he knew he'd lost this one. He took a quick glance in either direction then leaned forward and lowered his voice (Robin didn't like for him to be so close). "So, when you guys are done training, do you think she'd say yes if I asked her to the movies?"

"I don't _know_, Beast Boy. I told you that this is a Cyborg question; just wait and ask him when he gets here. He went to wake Terra up."

"Oh, so you've been _hiding_ him from me; I see how it is!" He faked a particularly wounded expression and then continued in a really bad British accent. "Honestly, Robin, I don't know if we can be friends again after such lies and deception. Our friendship has been soiled to its deepest depths, my trust forever destroyed, my heart knowing no end to the..." He paused. "Hey…you're laughing. You think I'm funny! Terra's the only one who thinks I'm funny!"

Well, he hadn't really been laughing. Or at least, he shouldn't have; he was supposed to be waiting for Terra. Bad. Maybe he could tell himself that he did it on purpose to make Beast Boy happy. "Well, I think the accent could use a little work, but overall that was pretty good."

Beast Boy glowed. (_Okay, good plan with the laughing thing.)_ "Sweet!" He switched gears immediately, serious and concerned. "But seriously, dude: just tell me what's on the torture menu for her, okay?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary; just some basic stuff to assess how much conditioning she needs," said Robin. He glanced at his watch again. Was she getting ready to work out or go to the prom?

"Now why are you going to make her do that?" Beast Boy tried to present a calculated smile, but there was nothing calculated about him so that didn't work.

_Sorry, Beast Boy: nice try, no cigar._ Robin could sympathize (or at least, he was really attempting to) but this was non-negotiable. "Take a wild guess."

"News flash, dude: we want her to like us," said Beast Boy, looking him straight in the face. It was one of his best tactics, one that he used all the time without realizing it. Beast Boy's vision of the world was simple, clean and easy. And he was ridiculously good at getting other people to feel absolutely nasty when they didn't agree with it. He did that to Robin a lot, actually.

This was one of those times. "_I_ want her to stay alive. I _don't care_ if she likes us." It was the right thing to say, and it was true, but it still made him feel like he should go off and hang himself somewhere.

"Well, I care! And what's that supposed to mean?" Beast Boy knew he had lost. But he was going to make it exactly clear how he felt about it, no matter what.

"It's obvious," said Robin, glancing at his watch again. "Her problems with her powers are directly correlated with her lack of control over her body. If we can't get her up to speed, who knows what…"

He didn't get to say the rest, because Cyborg and Terra rounded the corner just then, effectively ending the conversation. They shouldn't have been talking so loudly—but Robin didn't think they'd heard. Cyborg waved pleasantly, wide awake and optimistic. Terra trailed behind him, periodically glancing down at her socks with a disgusted pout. One sock was white, and the other was gray. It was obvious that she was very upset about this fact, but it would have been a lot less obvious if she weren't looking at them every three seconds.

"Morning, y'all!" Well, it was probably for the best that Cyborg said something, because Terra sure as anything wasn't going to speak up first.

_Morning. Sure. Haha, Cyborg…haha. _"To some of us it's morning," said Robin. He probably shouldn't have said that. It wasn't _their_ fault that he didn't sleep and he had no business alluding to it. Complaining was stupid. Complaining wouldn't keep you alive. He shoved the thought to the back of his mind and turned to Terra. Focus on the present. "Alright, Terra, I think it's very important that you…"

Her high-pitched voice interrupted him, excited and just a little compensatory. "I know!" A big grin revealed tiny, white teeth. "I really think it would be great for me to train with you guys. So, where do we start?"

Standing there with her mismatched socks and messy ponytail, Terra looked like the clumsy heroine at the beginning of a kids' movie. You knew she was going to screw up, but you cheered her on anyway because you also knew that she would magically become amazing by the end of the story. Of course, this was reality. Even so, Robin felt guilty: she was scared and he was going to upset her. It was like forcing a kitten to run laps.

He smiled at her, hoping it was a reassuring smile. "Well, first of all, you're not training _with_ us. I'm just going to see what you can do and give you some basic stuff to work on."

"Sounds fun!" Terra nodded, a bit too enthusiastically. _You'll have to do better than that, Terra._ She clearly thought that it sounded anything but fun.

"Yeah, I think it is." He turned to open the gym door, so Terra wouldn't have to keep pretending she was excited. It was the nicest response he could come up with, anyway.

While his back was turned, he heard Beast Boy whisper something that made Terra laugh. They really did seem to fit together. Maybe she _would_ be good for him: Beast Boy needed somebody to laugh at his jokes. Robin just didn't understand why he needed somebody…well, in _that_ way. Or even _wanted_ someone.

Terra followed him obediently through the doorway, waving at Beast Boy who teased her about how this was clearly the last time he would ever see her alive. It didn't seem to frighten her, which was certainly a good thing. She seemed like the sort of person who might take that seriously. As she closed the door behind her, he turned on some music in hopes of discouraging unnecessary conversation. Robin wasn't the best with one-on-one conversation to begin with, but he was absolutely atrocious at it if he didn't know the person. And he and Terra were practically strangers. Best to have background noise.

It took Robin about three and a half seconds to realize that Terra knew even less about exercise than he'd feared. She was certainly eager to learn: a bit too eager, considering how often he had to tell her not to touch something. Some people just seemed drawn to anything that looked dangerous…and Terra was attracted to danger like a dog to antifreeze. _Memo: keep Terra away from the dumbbell rack. They weigh more than she does, anyway. _

They spent a lot of time on stretching because she seemed to like that, and there wasn't any need to scare her on her first day. Terra really was pretty flexible, though she needed to work on the fine art of 'following directions.'

"No, not like that!" He hesitated then forced himself to reach out and correct her physically, dropping the contact the instant he'd guided her arm into a safer position.

She rolled her eyes. "What's the big deal? The worst that could possibly happen is…"

"…that you dislocate your shoulder, and trust me: it doesn't feel very good." Notwithstanding the fact that she'd be totally out of commission for at least a week, which they could not afford.

"Yeah, yeah," said Terra with a wave of her free hand. "I've never broken anything."

_And I hope you never do—or dislocate anything either, but I'm not holding my breath._ He felt much better after he'd let go of her arm and put some space between them. "Well, as stupid as you might think I'm being, _don't _pull your arm back so far, okay?"

"Okaaay," Terra drawled. Though, to her credit, she did stop trying to murder her shoulder. At least somebody had her confidence back.

Robin would have been more than willing to let her keep this up for the entire session: it was good to start her off with something she was good at because she'd be less likely to rebel later when he made her do things that she _wasn't_ good at. Besides, he'd gotten her to (mostly) pay attention and follow directions, which was more than he thought he was going to get out of her. But Terra got bored quickly. It didn't take long for her to grin up at him, with both feet behind her head, and ask, "So, what next?"

Well. She'd asked for it. He was about to say something that he was pretty sure she wouldn't be happy with, but then a universal constant was violated and he forgot how to talk. More specifically, somebody managed to sneak up on Robin. He felt that he could justify the stupidity that ensued, considering that universal constants weren't violated on a daily basis.

A smug look on her face, Raven raised one eyebrow at him. She was levitating over a bench, a few inches off the ground, and Robin had had _no idea_ that she was there. "Umm…_Raven_?" He hated the way his voice sounded when he was confused.

Raven didn't answer right away, but Terra turned around clumsily, unfolded herself, and murmured out a greeting.

_Okay. Get a grip. You were surprised: it's not the end of the world._ Except that it was, because this was just the kind of stupid behavior that had to end, that was totally unacceptable, that… Smiling face on, now. "Not that we aren't happy to see you, but what made you decide to come up here? I thought you hated working out."

Raven shrugged.

"And more importantly, _how'd _you get here without me noticing you...? I notice _everything_." The thought ended up spoken before he could stop himself. Bad, bad. Sure, Raven had a knack for making him feel like he had straw for brains, but this really was a special occasion of idiocy.

She offered some kind of explanation: it didn't matter what, because nothing would excuse what he did (or didn't do, was the real problem). In any case, the best way to deal with it was to ignore it, for now. Back to the problem at hand: Terra and her exercise. He turned to the girl on the mat and started explaining the finer points of operating the treadmill.

Of course, Raven had something to say about the treadmill. A bad situation three weeks ago when he'd been tired and had run just a little too far. He tried to come up with a witty comeback, but Robin wasn't very witty, not around Raven, at least.

He went back to showing the treadmills to Terra, who looked confused. Although reluctant to leave the blue mat, she'd shuffled over to the appropriate corner of the gym and was now poking experimentally at the buttons. For some reason, she made Robin think of what might happen if you threw a torch into a swimming pool filled with gasoline.

"Got it," she said, when he asked if she understood. Her scrunched up forehead suggested otherwise, but Robin decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. Or make her think that he was, anyway. The benefit of the doubt wasn't worth Terra breaking every bone in her body.

He had to stop her from trying to run too quickly, but once she'd gotten to a comfortable pace, he felt that he could leave her alone with reasonable confidence. Hopefully, she wouldn't decide to press the emergency stop button or anything.

When he started running, Raven rolled her eyes at him. Her look said everything that needed to be said: _I'm not going to pry, but you'd better believe that I will if I have to._ It didn't matter; he needed to run. Maybe his body would remember this the next time he felt compelled to let people sneak up on him.

He watched Terra very closely, somewhat impressed. She was fast and agile, but tired quickly—it was easy to see why. She had gained a little weight since the last time she'd lived with them but still looked as if her organs were about to eat themselves. Diet was going to be the next hurdle they addressed. Three thousand calories and fifty grams of protein a day, indefinitely, whether she liked it or not. Emaciated, starving team members led to lost battles.

Ten minutes was really longer than he had expected Terra to last before she asked if she could stop. Give the girl credit: she did not want people to see her screwing up—and knowing that Raven was watching probably served as more than enough motivation.

Here comes the part she wouldn't like. "Go for three more minutes. We need to build up your endurance." Robin would have made her run for three more minutes regardless of how long it took before she asked to stop, because he was a believer in pushing beyond what you thought you could do. Gritting your teeth and doing what you have to do anyway, no matter how much you're _sure_ that you can't—that was triumph. He cranked his speed up to eight miles an hour. Seven and a half was easy.

The look on Terra's face implied that she'd be perfectly happy to forego triumph and just turn the treadmill off, but one glance at Raven and she found the strength that wasn't there. Which, of course, was exactly what Robin wanted her to start learning how to do…even if it was coming from an unhealthy source at the moment. They could work on redirecting her motivation later. Eyes firmly fixated on the treadmill's display that kept track of the time, Terra didn't look up again until Robin told her that she could stop.

It took her awhile to get her voice back, but she eventually turned to him, red faced and victorious, asking, "Sooo…I'm…done?"

Robin told her to go stretch, smiling when she let out a whoop of excitement and hurried over to the mats. He might have laughed, but it was getting to the point where talking was just a little difficult. Better run faster. Eight and a half wasn't too hard.

Running was one of those constants, something that you could count on to always be the same no matter what. Monotonous, sure, but that could be a good thing when you needed things to be exactly the way you were expecting. And he liked the treadmill; it was controllable. That speed wasn't changing, not until you wanted it to, so it was easy to look straight ahead and just—stop thinking. Robin spent almost all of his time thinking, so this was good for him, good to focus on nothing but white noise and adrenaline and aching lungs. Beast Boy had asked him once if he ran to punish himself. He didn't, and that was the truth: besides, he liked running. But that was probably hard to understand if you didn't have the temperament for exercise. Exercise was so easy, so much easier than all the things he was horrible at, like knowing how to—

The belt slowed, imperceptibly at first but then it was impossible to keep running…and then he had to look down to see what was going on. Raven wasn't levitating anymore: she was standing right in front of him, hand on her hip, pressing down on the speed control and looking very displeased. Behind her, Terra shuffled from one foot to the other, an unspoken question on her lips as she glanced longingly towards the door.

"Time's up," said Raven dryly. It was deadly serious and very much an order.

"That was…uncalled for." He coughed. He hated the way he sounded when he did that.

Raven stared at him. "Was it really, now?" She leaned closer to him, really close, and he had to tell himself to breathe. "Get off that thing, _Richard_. Now."

Why'd she have to do that? Why couldn't she at least use his _real_ name? But he stepped down from the treadmill, on the side away from Raven, mostly just to put some more distance between them. "I was finished, anyway. Yeah, Terra, you're done for the day."

Terra nodded, though she didn't make a move to leave. Oh well. Maybe she'd actually talk to Raven if she stayed for a few more minutes. That would be good.

The treadmill's side rails cut Raven's face in half at the nose as she stared at him, because even compared to him, she was _short_. "Go to sleep, Robin."

He was already halfway to the door, but he yelled over his shoulder, "Sleep is a waste of time…I need to look over the main computer; there's been some odd bugs in it lately." There were no bugs in the computer, and he knew because he'd locked Terra out of it last night, and of _course_ he'd performed a systems check beforehand, but Raven didn't have to know that. He really would sleep soon. Just not yet. Because, in the first place, it would mean he'd let Raven tell him what to do. And Robin told other people what to do, not the other way around. And in the second place, he wasn't tired enough yet. If he slept, he'd dream. Driving back the thought, he focused on his need to find something else to do.

He heard her saying something about how he should at least take a shower, but he didn't turn around.


	3. Cardinality

**Bright Line**

**Chapter Three: Cardinality

* * *

**

Criminals were like telemarketers: they were most likely to bother you just when you were sitting down to dinner. It was just past five thirty (Beast Boy had some cartoon that he had to watch at five thirty, which he was currently glued to) and Cyborg had been _trying_ to boil water for pasta when the communicators started blinking. Nobody was ready for it. Cyborg was thoroughly absorbed with making dinner, Raven was nowhere to be found, and Starfire was sitting on the couch wearing fuzzy slippers. You didn't decide to attack things while people were wearing fuzzy slippers with pink rabbits on them. You just didn't.

Unless you were Cinderblock.

But Robin was ready, because he was _always_ ready. "Guys, don't look now, but I think dinner's just been postponed."

"Aww, man, but this is the good part. Couldn't it at least wait till a commercial?" Beast Boy poked his communicator resentfully. "You, sir, are a mean, mean little blinking light," he told it.

"So much for food," muttered Cyborg. He turned the stove off, leaving the pot of water where it was. Behind him, Starfire was scrambling for her boots, slippers kicked off carelessly. Learning to drop everything and _move_ was one of the toughest things that they'd had to learn. But they'd learned it the hard way more than enough times, had seen what happened when you waited another minute to brush your teeth, to turn off your computer, to put your book where it belonged.

"Has anyone seen Raven or Terra?" Robin asked tensely.

"We're here, we're here!" A nervous declaration, girlish and high-pitched. Terra appeared in the doorway, trying to get both of her gloves over her hands. Raven followed, right behind her.

There was barely time to be surprised at seeing Raven and Terra enter the living room together, obviously coming from the same place. Raven shrugged, answering the unspoken question. "I was teaching her to meditate."

Terra grinned, excitement suddenly rekindled. "Yeah, an' it's really cool, too, I think I'm getting the hang of it—plus, I think it's so neat how…"

"Terra. Focus, remember?" Raven pointed to her blinking communicator. "We have other problems."

"Oh," said Terra. She bit her lip.

"If it's a fight they want, it's a fight they'll get!" Beast Boy had left the television on, but he wasn't so much as glancing at it anymore. "Nobody messes up my favorite show and gets away with it."

"Right—good attitude," said Robin. "Titans, go!"

"Do you _have_ to do that?" Raven and Terra, in unison. Well, in completely different ways, of course (bored and cheeky, respectively), but they did say it at the same time. The girls looked at each other and Terra laughed.

Robin sighed. It was a _catch phrase_; really now, some people just didn't understand that concept. "We'll…discuss that later."

* * *

"And, like, we're already _there_, we know there's stuff to be done, people to save, and all that; I don't get why he has to _say it_…"

"He could be more specific. Sure, 'Titans, go'…but go where? 'Titans, go get-the-bad-guy' or 'Titans, go make-me-a-sandwich'? Really, it's hard to tell." Raven seemed to be enjoying this far more than she should. She kept glancing over at Robin with an amused smirk.

It didn't seem like the subject of what Robin did and didn't choose to say at any given time would really be all that interesting. Certainly not good enough conversation material to fill fifteen minutes. Of course, at least this meant that Terra and Raven were getting along. Finally. He had been starting to worry about that. And when you were crammed into a car, waiting to find out how much you were going to get squashed by a giant, rock-throwing freak…well, it was easy to see how Terra would latch onto any source of discussion. If it happened to be an insulting one, at least it made her feel better.

"Sooo…this Dinderblock person. What's his deal?"

"Cinderblock, Terra. And his deal is that he likes to make our lives miserable at random, inopportune moments. In general, he loses at the game of life," said Cyborg, far too cheerful for the occasion.

The woods were dark because it was still winter and everything got dark entirely too early. Robin thought about telling them to be quiet, but decided that it didn't really matter. Not like Cinderblock wasn't practically deaf anyway. At least he'd gotten loose in an isolated area. That way, nobody died.

Robin hoped.

"Dude, what's out here that he wants, anyway?" asked Beast Boy.

"Probably nothing. It's just the way out of prison," said Robin, carefully side-stepping a fallen log.

A few more steps past a particularly dense clump of poison ivy ("No, don't touch that, Starfire!") brought Cinderblock into full view. Giant, ham-fisted limbs were set on casually uprooting a nearby tree. He didn't seem to have noticed them.

But Terra had noticed _him_. Her eyes were round and full in the dimming light, an eerie, piercing blue. "Oh, wow. Wow. He's big."

Cinderblock threw the tree unceremoniously over his shoulder.

"Really? Are you sure?" Raven, of course.

"Well, sor-RY, but he _is_," muttered Terra petulantly. She took a step back towards the poison ivy. A big step.

Starfire's gaze skimmed over the clearing. "We have certainly been in more unpleasant situations than this," she remarked. Her features were set, eyes staring up in defiance, telling everyone that she was going to figure this out and beat it.

A boulder shattered the tense silence, crashing through the trees and sending some utterly terrified birds flying off into the darkness. It landed very near Terra, who screamed and just barely managed to leap out of the way.

"Unpleasant enough for you?" asked Raven dryly. The remains of the boulder lifted from the ground, outlined in black, ready to be used as a weapon.

He had been planning on at least another minute or two to assess the situation, maybe to lead Cinderblock some place where they would have the advantage. So much for that idea. "Titans…" Robin thought of something. "…never mind."

There was no real need, anyway; they already knew what to do. Starfire was in the air before anyone could blink, dodging rocks at dizzying speeds. Neon bursts of energy radiated from her palms again and again, even as Cinderblock shook the ground with every step.

Fighting was easy for Robin, even against someone like Cinderblock. It was something you didn't have to think about, acting and reacting before your brain could catch up with your body, believing that your fists knew what to do. That kind of trust had been hard for him at first, back when he'd tried to analyze every little move—but there wasn't time for that. It couldn't be evaluated (not until afterwards, anyway). Of course, this didn't mean letting your mind wander: the balance between heavy focus and excessive reasoning was tricky, but _had_ to be maintained. If not, you died. Quickly.

Robin dodged granite feet that were bigger than he was. Practiced fingers found a grenade at his hip, waited a split second so he'd be in range, and tossed. The explosion made his ears hurt, but he ignored it. Cinderblock's enraged roar was considerably louder than the explosion, however, and a bit difficult to ignore.

Disorientation. Half a second's hesitation. Too long. Lethal. A huge rock, sharp, flying towards his head. Desperately looking for the way out that wasn't there, the solution that wouldn't come this time…

And then, deceleration, a metaphorical emergency break and the rock wasn't colliding with his skull. Almost angrily, it flickered with that disturbing not-glow that he'd seen so many times before.

"Die," said Raven. That rock belonged to her now. Up, up, back into Cinderblock's face, sending him clawing at his eye.

"Thanks," said Robin, shaking himself back to full awareness. Stupid, stupid. How many more times would he have to be saved tonight? What was _wrong_ with him?

After that, things got better, because if there was one thing that Robin _never _did, it was make the same brainless mistake twice. They were beating him; little by little he was tiring, and thankfully no one else tried to come to Robin's rescue. And even more thankfully, they didn't need to.

Cinderblock suddenly turned (as suddenly as Cinderblock did anything), his attention focused on a rocky alcove half-obscured by oak trees. Step after enormous step sent him lumbering away from the fight, almost as if he were in a trance.

"Hey! Y'all, he wants something over there!" Cyborg pointed, sonic canon at the ready, an unmoving, not-quite-human wall.

"What could he…"

_"Terra!"_

Beast Boy's voice was panicked enough to rise above the unintelligible growling and crunching of boulders. And yes, looking again, Robin could see her: somehow skirting around Cinderblock's huge feet, though it wasn't likely that she could keep that up for very long. Why the thing had gone after Terra, Robin had no idea. Probably because she was the smallest and the most obviously terrified. Well, he'd figure out soon enough that size was irrelevant.

That is, if Terra could stop freezing up and remember that she was a geomancer.

"I'm on it," said Beast Boy, and, before anyone could argue, one hundred and fifteen pounds of boy had been replaced by fifteen hundred pounds of grizzly bear. Perhaps not the wisest course of action, but there was no arguing with Beast Boy when he decided that something had to be done. Especially when that something involved rescuing Terra.

"You idiot, get back…" Raven stopped when she realized that it was a futile statement because Raven didn't do futile.

He was between her and Cinderblock, giving Terra the few seconds she needed to get away. She wasted at least half of them by standing, immobile, mouth hanging open and gloved fingers trembling, but, spurred by a particularly foul curse from Raven, she somehow found the muscles necessary to move. Probably because she was more afraid of what Raven would do to her if she got herself crushed than she was of actually _being_ crushed. Just went to show that Terra had at least _some_ common sense….

As Robin had feared, this worked out in Cinderblock's favor because now _he_ was between Beast Boy and safety—and the stony alcove blocked any other possible option of escape. Beast Boy was in his human form again, eyes darting from dead end to dead end, quickly running out of backwards steps to take.

"Umm…guys…a little help here?"

An audible gasp from over Robin's left shoulder. Little Terra, standing there with shaking hands over her mouth, face frozen in horror. "He's…he's gonna hurt him. Oh god, he's gonna _kill_ him."

"I've got this one," said Cyborg, full to the brim with righteous anger as he locked on to Cinderblock's chest.

"No!" Standing with her feet far apart, anchored in the dirt, Terra set her hands in front of her deliberately, breathing heavily. "I did this, and I'm…gonna…fix it."

In actuality, it was probably only a few seconds (but as far as battles were concerned, that was long, way too long, long enough for the consequences to be irrevocable). But Cyborg let her do it. Terra's eyes—not blue anymore, no, they were a ghostly yellow that was almost sinister—were fixed on the ground underneath Cinderblock, beads of sweat fully visible along the bridge of her nose. The ground began to crumble…then split open, faster and faster, grainy soil pouring through the chasm like salt rubbed into a wound.

Robin noticed the problem first. "Beast Boy, _move_!"

He glanced into the rapidly expanding fissure, yelped in understanding and dove out of the way. Beast Boy was just barely fast enough to avoid it—but Cinderblock was nowhere near that quick. He crashed down into the chasm with a highly unpleasant echo that rattled half the forest, and lay prone for a long moment before levering himself up and trying clumsily to climb back out

Starfire winced, half-sympathetically, like she wasn't sure if she ought to apologize to Cinderblock for frightening him. "Friends, I…believe we are victorious, correct?"

But Terra had other plans. Still focused on Cinderblock and the hole in the earth, she made a low humming noise in the back of her throat and wrinkled her forehead. And then, the ground slammed back into place around his waist, stone on soil melding together like some ludicrous monument. Cinderblock let out an inhuman snarl but Terra was far too occupied to care.

She grinned when she was finished. "_Now_, we are victorious."

"Woah. That was…" Cyborg started, pointing at the living statue in disbelief.

"Alright. For a dumb blonde," said Raven with a smirk.

Terra rolled her eyes—fortunately, they were back to being blue. Robin didn't like the way her eyes turned yellow and lost their pupils. It looked unnatural.

"Hey, people? Think I could…" Beast Boy winced. "…get a hand, over here?" He waved at them from underneath a tree that had been split down the middle during the fight.

"Oh, oh wow, I'm sorry, just a minute…" Terra dropped her hands to her sides, finally releasing whatever hold she had channeled for that brief period of time. Robin and the others were well on their way to help him, but Terra got there first. Kneeling beside Beast Boy, she asked him frantically if he was alright.

"Uuuugh," he muttered, pointing to his right leg, face screwed up in what Robin would charitably call an attempt at agony. His uniform was torn and yes, his leg did seem a bit bruised, but Robin could say with reasonable confidence that he would live to tell the tale.

Terra gasped and touched the bruise carefully, murmuring apologies—come to think of it, that was probably just what Beast Boy wanted to happen. He'd never acted like this before: well, he had always displayed a tendency towards histrionics, but never to this degree. Yet another thing that Robin didn't get. If you were hurt, you fixed it or you dealt with it, but you didn't draw attention to it, and you _certainly _didn't try to get people to feel sorry for you.

Towering over them, Cyborg glanced at Beast Boy's "injury" and smirked. Raven, too, seemed to know exactly what this was about. Starfire probably would have fallen for it if Beast Boy hadn't been such an amusingly terrible actor.

Maybe Terra didn't fall for it either, but she'd already fallen so hard for Beast Boy that she didn't care. It was all confusing. Robin decided to focus on the thing that wasn't confusing: dealing with Cinderblock.

"Okay, guys, I'll notify the authorities that we got him—can somebody make sure he doesn't get out of that thing that Terra did?—and we need to make sure that he can't break out again. Cy, I'm going to need a full analysis of the cell he was being kept in so we can figure out the weaknesses. Can you get on that as soon as…"

"Robin. Day saved. Bad guy stopped. Wrong righted. You can come back from Neurotic Land now," said Raven. The wind blew her cape dramatically, and she pulled it closer around her shoulders.

"Yeah, I'm hungry enough to eat my face. Well…eww, but I'm _almost_ hungry enough, anyway." Beast Boy laughed, then remembered that he was supposed to be in unbearable pain.

"Yes, we should celebrate this victory!" Three guesses who said that. Starfire smiled sweetly.

"Okay, you guys win," said Robin, realizing that he was smiling before he remembered to stifle it. "When the police show up, we can eat. But I do still want that analysis at some point, Cy, okay?"

"If you suddenly decided that you _didn't_, I think I'd have to rush you to the emergency room."

* * *

They really had every intention of not going out again. In fact, they almost made it halfway home before Cyborg announced that he was definitely too tired to even think about cooking. It probably would have made more sense to turn around and find somewhere to eat right then, but everyone started fighting about where to eat. And Cyborg tended to get very excited about food arguments, especially if they involved disagreeing vehemently with Beast Boy…so Robin had to insist that they figure it out at home, if only for safety.

_We're the only superheroes who could survive a battle with an ogre made entirely of rock and then get killed in a car accident because we were too busy fighting about food. _

And besides, Beast Boy said he needed to lie down because his leg hurt so much that it was probably going to have to be amputated. "And then wouldn't you be sorry for being so _mean _to me all the time!" The very first thing he did when he got into the living room was to fall onto the couch, pillow over his face, making pitiful noises.

Terra hurried over, still very concerned, and started talking with him quietly, soothingly. They looked almost…domestic, with Beast Boy's feet across her lap.

Robin awkwardly informed Terra that she had done a good job. He felt like he ought to, since she'd only fought with them a few times before. She beamed at him, though she did rake her fingers through her hair in that way that meant she was worried about something. Probably more than a bit embarrassed at being complimented—either that or she had just realized how everyone was staring at her.

The television was still blaring, now right in the middle of some kids' show about an orange chicken. Thankfully, Beast Boy didn't raise a word of protest when Raven turned it off in disgust, muttering something about how some people never graduated from kindergarten properly. Things were peaceful for a few minutes, with everybody checking themselves for ripped clothing or hidden injuries, trying not to gape at Terra and Beast Boy (and failing in varying degrees). Cyborg poured out the water on the stove, now room temperature, with a look that demonstrated just how relieved he was that he didn't have to worry about dinner right now.

It was peaceful, and then it wasn't. Somehow, pizza just _had_ to get involved.

"Ugh, no, _not _pizza," said Raven, shooting down Beast Boy's suggestion with venom. "We had that two days ago, remember?" She was standing in front of the television, hand on her hip in that way that meant she had made up her mind. And unless you wanted to lose an eye, you didn't argue when Raven had made up her mind.

It was like building a house of cards and suddenly realizing that you shouldn't have put that six of diamonds where you did. Raven had just triggered what promised to be a painfully long argument. Because Raven was _not _eating pizza no matter what, Starfire chimed in wanting avocados with ketchup, Cyborg still wanted pasta (only pasta that he didn't have to make)…and Terra wasn't saying anything. Which was more than a little uncharacteristic of Terra, because she always had something to say, even if it was rude, not very bright or vastly inappropriate. She was still looking at Beast Boy, but she wasn't really seeing him—her expression was out of focus, preoccupied. Worried.

Worried about something substantially more important than pizza versus pasta.

So that's why Robin spoke up, loudly, interrupting Beast Boy and Cyborg. "What do _you_ think, Terra?" He watched her ignore him for exactly two and half seconds, then jerk her entire face around as she looked up at him, startled like a skittish horse.

Terra mumbled something about waffles, and Beast Boy cheerfully began tallying up the votes. Robin didn't really care what she wanted to eat. He had been looking for something. He didn't know what—but he was reasonably sure that he had found it. Better shove _that_ idea away before Raven decided to go snooping again. But Raven was busy insulting Beast Boy's intelligence, so she didn't notice. Probably.

"I just don't understand what's wrong with pizza—it's not like there aren't a million different kinds, so you can't say that we had it two days ago…"

"Yes, Beast Boy. Yes, I can say it. Mostly because we _did_," said Raven.

"Now you're just completely missing the point!"

"Uhh, you guys?" Terra raised her hand like a first grader asking to use the restroom. At some point, she'd untangled herself from Beast Boy, and she was now slumped against the cushions, her free hand over her stomach. She swallowed audibly. "I actually think I'm going to have to take a rain check on dinner."

Forgetting all about pizza for a mere fractional second, Beast Boy touched Terra's forehead with his palm and affirmed that she did feel 'kinda sick-ish.' "It was all that horrible training you made her do, Bat Head, I just know it!"

"It so wasn't, and don't call me that," said Robin. He'd gotten that kind of thing a lot when the team first came together, though it happened less now that they knew how much it bothered him. Instead, Bruce references were mostly reserved for cases when somebody needed to _really_ annoy Robin. He turned his thoughts inward, listening to himself breathe in and out. Robin wasn't Bruce. Robin didn't _want_ to be Bruce. Bruce was a jaded old man that hated the world and everything in it, who had no idea how life was supposed to work, who was impossible to get along with…Robin didn't want to be Bruce.

Seeming to sense the tension, Terra held out her hands and flashed one of her trademarked, magnetic smiles. "Hey, wow, don't get upset over me, you guys. It's just a cold, or something. I just think it would be better if I had an early night instead of going out."

For a while, it looked like nobody was going to accept that (Robin certainly didn't, but there was a time and place for everything, and this was not the right time to press the issue). Then, Cyborg admonished her to take care of herself and told her to go right to bed, adding that they would bring her some soup before they left. Starfire began an energetic story about Tamaranian cures for illness, but Robin decided that he needed to curb that idea before Terra got_ really _sick. He knew a fair bit about the way things worked on Tamaran and, well…some of it didn't exactly make for the best dinner conversation.

"G'night, guys." Terra's words jumbled around the yawn, a bony hand resting against her forehead. She did look a bit more pale than usual. Maybe she really was sick. Could have something to do with the obvious lack of nutrition—her high protein diet started _tomorrow_, no questions asked. Standing up carefully, she shuffled out of the room, vigorously twisting blonde hair around her index finger.

She had only been gone for a few seconds when Beast Boy turned to the rest of them and proclaimed, "So. Since Terra's vote was obviously the most important, and she can't come anymore, we'll just have to go with the second most important vote: _mine_!"

"Somebody bought their logic at Wal-Mart," Raven noted.

* * *

Whoever Gene was, Robin needed to thank him for saving his team from numerous battle wounds and possible starvation.

Because, by some miracle, Gene had decided to open a restaurant. This restaurant was close by, not very crowded, and served nearly every variety of food imaginable. Given, it had the most banal name conceivable ("Gene's Restaurant"…sure) but the place did seem to have solved the food problem. There was pasta, pizza, and, yes, even avocados. Robin wondered if the silver haired man behind the cash register was Gene. Or maybe he was the guy in the painting on the wall, smiling back like a first grade teacher fused with Santa Claus.

It was cold, though. He wanted a jacket. The air felt almost damp, like climbing out of a swimming pool and getting blasted with air conditioning.

Looking around the table, watching them, he almost couldn't take it. Almost couldn't endure Beast Boy hitting Cyborg with the menu and Starfire asking why they had been given crayons and Raven telling them all, affectionately, to shut up. Because someday, he wouldn't be able to do this anymore. He wouldn't be able to hide it forever and when they found out…

Before he'd really thought about it consciously, he was standing up and walking past the rows of plastic booths. He half perceived the looks of confusion coming from the rest of the table, but they didn't register. Opening the door slowly, he stepped out into the darkness, immediately feeling a lot better because it wasn't nearly so _cold_ outside. Figures that some people thought it would be smart to keep the air conditioning on in February.

This side of town wasn't particularly unsafe, but Robin wouldn't have worried, anyway. Being alone at night was nothing new for him.

"You know, I almost think that you wanted me to come out here and ask you what was wrong." A disinterested voice behind him. At least, it would sound disinterested to anyone who didn't know her, but Robin knew Raven.

Fair point, he supposed. It could be construed that way. Even though that wasn't it—at all. "I'm fine, really," he told the lamppost on the street corner. "It's not a big deal. I just think it's really cold in there."

"Maybe next time, you could remember that it's winter and bring a jacket," suggested Raven. The rustling of fabric, a few careful steps, and she was standing in front of him, though not too close. Her expression was completely neutral.

"I'll try to remember, yeah," said Robin quietly. Something weak and stupid inside of him wanted Raven to stay. Which meant that he should try to get her to go away as soon as possible—before _he_ said anything stupid.

She stared at him for a long moment, unabashed. "You're giving me a headache, okay?"

Another fair point. He'd been obnoxious in the past few months. Though it seemed strange for Raven to call him on it…well, okay, she'd definitely call him on it, but not in those words. "Look, I'm sorry that I've been…well, a jerk lately. I've got a lot on my mind, and…"

"No, not _that _kind of headache, you idiot," said Raven. "You're not annoying anybody. It's your mind, Robin. Your emotions are concentrated, intense, absolutely boiling over. And they are _hurting my head_."

"Oh," said Robin. He didn't like where this was leading.

"So…this is the point where I stop leaving you alone about it, because I can't meditate with all the goddamn broadcasting you're doing." She paused, measuring his reaction. "You know I don't pry, Robin. But you lost your right to privacy when you invaded mine. Start sharing."

Heart hammering in his chest, he took a step away from her. Anything to put some distance between them, because she could reach out and touch him if she wanted to, and he did not like that, not at all. "Wow, Raven, I…really, honestly can't figure out where you might have gotten this from."

Raven quirked an eyebrow. "I see: you're saying that I don't know when people are incredibly upset? Because I can definitely see how you'd feel that way." She crossed her arms over her chest. "I mean, I've only been an empath since, oh, _birth_. I can't imagine where I'd get the silly idea that you need help."

"I don't need any help," he muttered tersely.

"Don't be a drama queen, Richard Grayson."

Robin knew better than to tell her not to call him that. But she was right: Raven knew things. And she'd never let it go if he didn't think of something to tell her that would satisfy her. So, he chose something safe. "Okay, you win. I've been messing up in fights lately, making stupid mistakes, and I'm not sure why. Plus, Terra's…well…I'm not sure how to say this…"

"We'll worry about the second point in a minute. But first of all: it's called sleep deprivation, Robin."

He tried to glare at her but was certain that it looked more like incredulity.

"I mean it," Raven continued. "You stop sleeping, you stop eating, you exercise yourself into exhaustion…are you really surprised that your body isn't listening to you anymore?"

_How the freck did she know about that?_ "I don't do any of that."

Raven tapped the side of her head deliberately. "Empath, Robin. I know when you sleep and when you don't. And lately, it's been much more of the latter."

It did make some sense. Robin wasn't an idiot; he knew how his metabolism worked. Knew what he needed to do to take care of himself. But…he hated to sleep. Hated it. Sleeping meant dreams. Dreams meant memories. And he couldn't—wouldn't—Robin bit down hard on the inside of his cheek and told his hands that if they didn't stop shaking, they'd live to regret it. "I…" He took a deep breath. Then another. "…don't really like sleeping, okay?"

Something changed in Raven's eyes, and when she spoke again, all of the residual acrimony had dissolved. Her hand twitched like she was going to touch him, and Robin felt every muscle in his body tense. _Oh, god, please, don't…_

_Because it wasn't her hand; it was larger, pinning him down to a too-clean bed with a cool detachment as—_

Mercifully, she abandoned the idea. He was relieved enough that he didn't even care if it was because she'd felt his reaction. "Do you…do you want to tell me why?"

"Why…what?"

She raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Why you don't like sleeping. You know: the thing you just said."

He didn't. Didn't, wouldn't, couldn't. He would _never_ tell her why, because the mere thought made him want to find a dark corner somewhere so he could just _die_ and never have to look her in the face again… "Not really," said Robin.

"Then you'd better start sleeping and eating like the human being that you are, or I'm going to_ make_ you tell me why. But I'll give you the benefit of the doubt for now." She shrugged. "Now, about Terra…I've felt it, too."

That was one thing that was nice about Raven: you seldom had to explain yourself to her unless she decided that making you do it anyway would be good for you. She wasn't telepathic, of course, but she could almost always understand those irrational thoughts that couldn't be put into words. But getting her to agree with them was an added bonus. "Really?" asked Robin slowly.

Raven nodded. "I'm going to leave it alone, because I don't know what it is yet. If I accused somebody of plotting our gruesome deaths every time I got a headache, I would have already locked you in some maximum security prison."

"You think she's plotting our gruesome deaths? You think _I'm_ plotting our gruesome deaths? Terra's giving you headaches?"

"I'll answer them in order: no, you're an idiot, and yes." She turned her head slightly to stare up at the lamppost, probably just to give Robin a break. At least the conversation wasn't about him anymore. "Something's weird, okay? That's all I'm saying."

"Weird in what way?" asked Robin, wondering if he really wanted to know.

She bit her lip, shifting her weight uncertainly. "Well…I'm not sure if you've noticed or not, but Terra's gained weight."

Robin considered that. The girl still looked emaciated to him. Though, if he really thought about it, her bones did seem a bit less prominent, her eyes less sunken than the first time she'd been with them. "Maybe. But that's a good thing, I'd say."

"Sure it is. But when did she gain weight? How?"

The question made him feel a bit queasy. "Good point."

"It's things like that," Raven continued. "Little, unimportant things. Details I'm picking up, flashes of emotions that don't belong: she's feeling…I shouldn't really share what, exactly, but let's just say that I'm getting some odd emotions from her."

"So what should we do about it?" The lamppost flickered, emitting a low humming noise.

"Nothing to do," said Raven. "Just be aware, I'd say. And _you_ need to take better care of yourself. For example, our food is ready, and if you don't go inside and eat it, I'm going to get out the feeding tube."

It was a pretty interesting mental image, he had to admit. He laughed dryly, taking a step towards the door to Gene's Restaurant. "Fair enough. Eating now, I promise."

Raven nodded and followed him back inside. Her hand did that strange, twitching thing again as Robin opened the door, so he ducked out of the way in case she decided to touch him. Not that Raven was a physical person, but you could never be too careful. Heart in his throat, Robin slid back into the plastic booth and told himself that he had to eat the pizza.

He felt Raven's mental presence, just briefly, as she casually made up a lie about what they'd been discussing. An ethereal, careful trace of her emotions—but she wasn't spying, not in the least. She was…just there.

It was almost nice.


	4. Negation

**Bright Line**

**Chapter Four: Negation

* * *

**

Robin was not sick. He didn't have _time_ to be sick.

Being sick was for lazy people who wanted an excuse to sleep all day. Or at least for people who didn't have to save the world. It was for normal people…and Robin wasn't normal. Well, he was more normal than anyone else on the team, but that was no excuse. Starfire had never been sick in her life. Cyborg…well, he'd be more likely to get a computer virus. In any case, illness was something that Robin would simply not allow.

He was having trouble concentrating, the overhead light had been getting more and more vicious all evening and he hurt _everywhere_…but he was _not_ sick. The living room was just freezing, that was all. What did he have to do to get Terra to quit messing with the thermostat? She had excused herself to take a shower—conveniently right after Raven decided that they were all going to play some card games.

"This…is so lame," muttered Beast Boy, staring down into his cards.

From the floor, Raven fixed him with an easy stare. "It's at least six orders of magnitude less lame than watching you and Cyborg glue yourselves to the television screen. Who has the two of clubs?"

"Hey, what's wrong with Mega Monkeys? And, hmm, clubs? That's the one with the little shovel-looking thing, right?"

"No, Beast Boy, that would be spades," said Raven dryly.

In a different situation, maybe Robin would have noticed, but his head hurt and Starfire was sitting next to him on the couch, and she was _way _too close. It almost made him nauseous. Or maybe that was something else. In any case, nobody played the two of clubs, because Robin had the two of clubs but this fact didn't register until Cyborg reached up and poked him in the knee.

The action was startling but not enough to get a reaction out of him. "Hey, Earth calling Robin—you with us?" Cyborg asked from the floor.

"Umm…yeah," he heard himself mutter, picking up the two of clubs and letting it flutter lifelessly to the floor. They really had to turn the thermostat up…

Cyborg grinned and put one of his cards down, something that was obviously a good move, but it was getting hard for Robin to think about what would be a good move in Spades. Which was more than a little disturbing, because the day Robin couldn't win a card game was the day that the universe caved in on itself.

It was Raven's turn but she didn't so much as glance at her cards. She was looking at him. "Are you okay, Robin?" It was the least annoyed sentence that Robin had ever heard her say.

Robin didn't answer, shifted so he could lean against the arm of the couch, stared into his hand as if he had at least some idea of what move he should make.

"Dude, he's fine; it's your move, Rae, come on," said Beast Boy.

A flash of anger. "How many times do I have to tell you what my name is?"

Beast Boy rolled his eyes but scooted back from her as far as the couch would allow. "Well, excuse me—here I am trying to be nice and play your _stupid_ game and now you're going to be mean to me…"

Raven slammed one of her cards down on top of the pile. "Your. Move."

"Big meanie. Now, which one was the spades…"

Robin had been afraid that Starfire would never understand what was going on; however, once they had identified for her the different types of "tiny, malleable rectangles" and what to do with them, she was actually a decent player. Beast Boy cringed at her move, demanding to know how she had gotten so good at this game when she wasn't even from _Earth_. He didn't like to lose—even at a game he thought was a waste of time.

Of course, Robin didn't like to lose, either. At anything. Ever.

Starfire took the trick, clapping her hands and grinning. "I may choose any one of the rectangles this time, correct?" she asked thoughtfully.

"Yeah, you just can't lead with a spade since nobody's played one yet," said Cyborg, nodding.

"Hey, stop helping her!" That would be Beast Boy.

The next trick went to Robin, because Starfire played a diamond and he had the ace. At least he remembered to play the ace; it was getting hard to think. It was just so cold. He wondered if he should say something. Nobody else seemed to be bothered by it. Robin leaned over to place a card on top of the pile, telling his headache to take a number.

"Umm…Robin? Man?"

"Yeah?" His voice sounded really foggy, even to him. Perfect.

Cyborg pointed to the card as if he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. "You…can't lead with a spade yet. I _just_ said that."

He looked. Cyborg was right, and that was unsettling because he hadn't meant to do it. Robin knew how to play this game. Robin had been playing this game for seven years; Starfire had been playing for seven minutes. So why did she understand when he didn't? But no, that wasn't right: he _did _understand; there was just something, some mental road block…he saw what was going on but couldn't remember what to do with it or how or why.

"Oh…oh right, yeah, sorry," said Robin. He corrected the mistake and Cyborg hesitated but then played a card. Trying to keep track of the game, Robin found himself wondering absently if this was the first step of some villain's master plan to incapacitate them all. Had they fought anyone who might have a weapon that lowered awareness?

But Raven wasn't going to let the game continue. She had absolutely no inclination to play a card, her hand forgotten facedown on the floor. "Robin, what is _wrong_ with you?"

"Yes, are you damaged?" Starfire leaned over him, and he could _not _shove her away, no matter how much he wanted to…she was concerned. Just concerned. Breathe.

Engrossed in building a little house out of his cards, Beast Boy smirked but didn't look up. "I think he's sick."

Starfire pulled away from him, utterly crestfallen. "First, friend Terra becomes ill, and now you?"

Well, if he really _was _sick (which he wasn't), that made a bit more sense. Of course, Robin didn't think that Terra had legitimately been sick, not for an instant, but he didn't know what it meant and the reasoning got more difficult the more he thought about it. He stared at Starfire and couldn't think of a good answer. Luckily, he didn't have to, because Raven had stood up and walked over to the couch, giving him something else to focus on. Unluckily, Raven had decided to find out if he was sick or not.

Robin stared hard at a spot on the wall when she pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. _It's Raven, it's _Raven,_ be rational for once_. But he couldn't be rational, and he hated himself for not being able to, and his head hurt and…

"Yeah. If you don't have a fever, I'll let Beast Boy paint my nails," said Raven. Beast Boy stopped building whatever he was building with his cards to grin at Raven and rub his hands together.

"I am _not _sick," said Robin.

"Except for the part when you _are,_" said Raven. "You tried to lead with a spade on the third trick, Robin. To me, that could only indicate that you are deathly ill."

"I don't get deathly ill," said Robin. "Look, I don't think I'm sick, but if I am, I'll survive. It's not a big deal."

"It's a big deal whenever anything happens to somebody else," Cyborg remarked conversationally.

"Yeah, because you all have superpowers, and who knows what would happen if…if…" Come to think of it, he couldn't remember what superpowers had to do with anything.

"Robin, do us all a favor and never try to argue when you have a fever. It really isn't good for our image of you as a leader." Caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation, Raven shook her head slowly. "You should go to bed."

"It's eight-thirty; I'm not sleeping."

"Hey guys, where's Terra?" Beast Boy's card house fell to the carpet and he swore softly.

For once in his life, Robin gave thanks for Beast Boy's one-track mind. Of course, he did have a point. Terra had said she was going to take a shower…fifty-three minutes ago. Even for someone who enjoyed using up all the hot water on a daily basis, that was a ridiculously long time. They shouldn't have left her alone—she could have gotten lost, or hurt.

_Or maybe she's not lost,_ said a voice in the back of his mind, that same voice that hadn't really been silenced since the day she joined the team. _Maybe this was exactly what she wanted…_

"I'll go find her," said Robin, standing up. "I need to look at something in the main computer room, anyway…"

"Not _my_ main computer room!" Cyborg glared. "You're sick. You're not touching the computers; I need you messing with them like I need _Slade_ messing with them."

He took a deep breath and it slowed his heartbeat a little. "Fine. Beast Boy, can you go down there and check the security when you go to look for Terra?"

Beast Boy sighed loudly. "Oh, fine: I guess I could be your _slave_. Seeing as how I am basically the nicest person ever. Hey, after I go find Terra, we'll have an even number so we can play with partners!"

"I thought you hated Spades," remarked Cyborg.

"I like Spades with _Terra_," said Beast Boy as he disappeared out the door. "Back in a sec!"

"You," said Raven, pointing at Robin. "Are going to sleep in an hour."

"I must agree with friend Raven; you appear most unwell," said Starfire. "But what is this 'fever'?"

Cyborg had abandoned his cards on the floor and was now leaning against the back of the couch. "It means that his body temperature is higher than normal."

"It is _not_," muttered Robin.

"I see," said Starfire. "And this causes one to make uncharacteristically foolish decisions in the game of Spades?"

Robin turned his face into the couch, covering his head with a pillow. Starfire didn't mean it, didn't even understand, of course; apologies spilling over like a waterfall…but he just couldn't bring himself to look at anyone. Besides, the light was really starting to bother him. Had Cyborg reprogrammed the electrical system again?

"It's okay, Starfire; you didn't do anything wrong…" Was the last thing he could remember hearing.

* * *

Somebody was touching him. Fingers at his side, his ribcage, pulling slightly at his shirt.

_"Stop it-- please-- just stop…"_

_"You know how to make it stop, Robin."_

He wrenched himself back to consciousness, eyes snapping open suddenly, violently. One hand jerked out to grab the attacker, twisting the arm away from him and down, nearly breaking it before the shocked gasp broke through his haze and Beast Boy's pained features swam into focus in front of him. Appalled, he dropped it, swallowing as the living room spun, unpleasantly. "I…I…sorry."

Beast Boy jerked back and immediately put some distance between them as soon as Robin's grip loosened slightly. He opened his mouth to say something but didn't make a sound.

"Don't give us that look: I _told_ you not to bother him." A disembodied voice, utterly unsympathetic, from somewhere over Robin's shoulder.

"Dude, I didn't expect him to attack me!" accused Beast Boy. He masked it with anger, but the fear was right under his words. Fear and disbelief.

"I'm sorry about that, Beast Boy, really." Robin wished he could fall into the couch and never come out again. "I was just…"

"Sick, sleep deprived, and startled," said the disembodied voice. Robin sat up slowly, eyes focusing on Raven, who didn't look very happy. "No: you lie down before you pass out. Alright, just…stay there for a minute, please." She was holding the sides of her face with both hands, forehead wrinkled in either concentration, pain or both. Headaches, he figured. Again. Was he really that obvious? He had to stop hanging around her.

Terra put an arm around Beast Boy, mumbling something that Robin couldn't hear. That made sense. Of course she would be in the room—if Beast Boy was back, he must have brought Terra…they seemed to go together lately, in a way. And why was it _so cold?_

"Okay, you're not arguing this time: you need to go to bed _now_," said Cyborg authoritatively. Why was Cyborg telling him what to do? Robin was supposed to tell _him_ what to do. Wasn't he? But Cyborg was older. Maybe that was why. But he was only two years older. One year, really, because Robin would be sixteen soon so it really wasn't fair…And if he'd wanted to be the leader he should've said so, age wasn't enough, he should've said something up front. No fair just--

"Robin, are you listening to me? I asked if you could walk." He wished that Cyborg would stop talking. It made his headache worse—and they still hadn't fixed those lights.

_"Robin!" _That would be Starfire because it couldn't be Cyborg since it sounded too much like a girl and too energetic to be Raven and too bold to be Terra. Proving that he could still reason logically, he acted on this deduction, tilting his head around to look at Starfire. Her green eyes were round and frightened. "You are ill. And in your current state, you are clearly not fit for the playing-of-Spades."

"What she said," said Beast Boy. "Go to bed and come back when you don't feel like trying to break my arm or something." He paused. "Hey, Rae, can't you just—I dunno—heal him with your powers?"

"I can heal physical injuries, not diseases. Stop calling me 'Rae'." She turned her attention away from Beast Boy. "Robin, you have two choices: you can walk to your room or be carried."

It wasn't fair. Five against one. They just didn't understand that he wasn't really sick. There was something wrong. Some kind of disorientation ray or something. They had to believe him, if they didn't they could get caught in it too--

A snort interrupted that train of thought. "No, Robin, you're just sick. There's no ray."

He turned to Raven, eyes wide. Wasn't she just supposed to feel, things, not actually--

"I didn't read your mind, Robin. You're talking out loud. Now decide: Walk or be carried."

He didn't think he could've been talking out loud, but she was starting to sound impatient, and it was more important to focus on that, not on what she knew. And no one carried Robin _anywhere_. "Fine, whatever." He stood up to prove that he could.

"I'll take him," said Raven casually.

"I _said_ I could walk!"

"Right, because we're really going to let you try and find your way to your room when you can't manage to keep track of a conversation." She glared at him. Pointedly. Deliberately. It took him a few seconds to remember why Raven was being so vehement, but then he thought of that awkward conversation outside of Gene's Restaurant. Great. She'd probably _never_ leave him alone now.

He hated the way they all said goodnight, in various combinations of worry and confusion. Terra in particular had all but tried to hide behind Beast Boy, looking at the floor and clenching her jaw. They managed to convince Starfire not to hug him, since he was probably contagious, and though Robin wasn't even sure if she could contract their diseases, it was undoubtedly the best decision anyone had made all evening.

The walk to his room was awkward. And quiet—because Raven didn't do small talk and neither did he. When they passed the infirmary, she slipped in for a few seconds to "get some things," which didn't bode well. He _wasn't_ sick. Why was everyone treating him like an _invalid? _

"Okay, congratulations: we've managed to find my room. I could never have done it without your help."

"No, I really don't think you could have," she said easily. "Considering that you tripped twice and tried to make at least one wrong turn."

That was wrong, of course, but it wasn't worth arguing about. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure I can figure things out from here."

"Sure you can," said Raven. "But I'll be taking some precautions first. Open your door."

Now that really wasn't fair. "You don't let anybody in _your_ room!"

"I don't try to kill myself. Open your door."

He gritted his teeth and entered the appropriate combination. Raven walked through the doorway before him, strode purposefully to his desk.

"What the freck are you doing?"

She reached behind to the back of his laptop and, in one swift motion, unplugged the power cord. And the Ethernet cable. "Taking _precautions_. These are mine until I can trust you to sleep."

"Raven, I have _work _to do!"

A glare, incisive and unwavering. "So you _were _just planning on researching until your eyes fell out. Do I really need to lock you in the infirmary, Robin? Because I don't want to, but I will."

He wanted to think of something cutting to say in response to that, but all the cutting remarks he knew were probably in the same place that his brain had gone earlier in the evening. So he didn't answer, and distracted himself by wondering what could have ever compelled him to lead with a _spade_ when he wasn't supposed to…

"Fine: ignore me, but you're not getting your computer back." She shrugged, and set the cords down on the desk chair. Robin wondered if she might forget to take them with her. "One more thing—I'll leave you alone if you take these."

Two bottles of pills, obviously what she had taken out of the infirmary. "What are those for?" he asked doubtfully. Robin hated medication. Hated it.

"This for the fever and this will help you sleep. Don't give me that look; we'll let you know if any horribly nefarious fiends decide to attack the city." She held the bottles out to him in a way that left no room for argument.

"No you won't," Robin muttered.

"Well, probably not," she agreed. "No, take two of those. _Two,_ Robin. Don't you want some water?"

He swallowed defiantly because ignoring her question made it seem like he had slightly more control of the situation.

"Fine; be that way." Her expression softened, almost imperceptible. "I'm…sorry you're sick."

"Yeah, well, so am I," said Robin.

"Oh, good, you've finally admitted it. That's progress." Raven picked up the cords and walked over to the door. "I…well…" She flipped the light switch. That made him feel a lot better. Light was bad.

"Goodnight," said Raven, leaving him alone with his thoughts. At least she hadn't stayed to make sure he was actually sleeping. It didn't seem unlike her if you could get her angry enough, but it would almost certainly be the final blow to his dignity, the one from which there could be no recovery.

He didn't sleep right away. In the first place, he never did that anyway, even when he ended up sleeping—and in the second place, he needed to check a few things in his books first. But it got hard to keep his eyes open very quickly. Stupid pills. He'd been drugged before, more seriously than this, but he hated it, all the same.

At some point—he couldn't remember when—he did finally stumble over to his bed, not bothering to pull back the covers. It was really, really cold…but blankets were for normal people. Kind of like being sick. Besides. When he tried to squirm under them, he found that someone had bonded them to the bed or something and he just didn't care enough to force them up enough that he could get under.


	5. Vacuous Quantifier

**Bright Line**

**Chapter Five: Vacuous Quantifier

* * *

**

"Robin! You're awake! Can I talk to you?"

A blonde head appeared in the doorway. She waved at him, small hand firmly attached to a jar of peanut butter. After just over a week of eating properly, Terra already looked better. She wasn't nearly so pale and her eyes had lost that dull, primal quality of a starving animal. And she had stopped gorging herself at every meal—as if she didn't know how long it might be until she got any more food.

He hadn't been planning on having any long conversations, because he felt awful, but he was tired of being unconscious—a change of pace sounded nice. Hopefully, no one would decide to force him to go back to sleep. Robin had been sleeping _forever_. "Sure," he said.

Walking into his room, Terra stuck a pink, plastic spoon into the peanut butter jar, examining it critically. "I'm super sorry that you got sick, and all."

"It's not your fault," said Robin. He studied her anxious expression and a thought occurred to him. "And please don't think that it had anything to do with last week, when you were sick. I think that was just a twenty-four hour thing."

Terra's eyes went completely blank, forehead wrinkling slightly. "Sick?" She paused for a moment around a mouth full of peanut butter. "Oh, right, sick! Yeah, I'm glad that you don't think I gave it to you or anything like that." A nervous giggle. Avoiding eye contact.

_Liar. _

If he hadn't known that she had faked it before, he definitely knew now. But why? Had she really not wanted to eat with them that much? Doubtful. Then what could…he lost the thought, turning to cough into his hand. For a long time. "Sorry," he choked out hoarsely.

Terra shifted her weight, twirling her hair around her finger. "It's fine." The spoon went back into the peanut butter jar as her face turned serious. "Can…well, can I ask you some things?"

"Okay," said Robin, wondering where this was heading.

Hesitating, she turned his desk chair around and sat in it the wrong way, forearms resting against the back. Robin gritted his teeth and didn't say anything about the misuse of a chair carefully chosen for its ergonomics. "Well, you know that I haven't been here for very long, and I don't exactly know everything there is to know about all the guys we fight…" She paused for some more peanut butter. "And…umm…I just wanted to know."

He waited for a second, until it became apparent that she wasn't going to continue, then felt his lungs catch again. "Wanted to know what?" he managed to say before succumbing to another coughing fit.

Terra looked at the floor. She twisted the spoon around in the peanut butter, absently, fingers shaking slightly. Then, suddenly, a deep breath, and her real question burst out, faster with every word…almost like a confession. "What's really so bad about Slade, Robin? I know we fight him and I know you all say he's bad and stuff, but how do you _know?_ How can you be _sure?_ What's he done that's so horrible?"

Somehow, the question blindsided him. Maybe he should've expected it, but he didn't. At all. And he couldn't breathe. Couldn't breathe and he was still coughing and Terra was staring at him and she had to have an answer _now…_and all the good answers had taken a permanent holiday. _Yeah, Terra, I can tell you _exactly_ what's so bad about Slade, in more detail than you ever wanted to know._

Actually, he supposed that if he was the leader he believed himself to be, he would tell her. Anyone with such an irresolute attitude about the people they fought needed to be corrected, and firmly, before things got out of hand. But he couldn't bring himself to say it, opened his mouth and then closed it because he was a rotten, dirty coward. And the day Slade did to Terra what he…well, Robin would know exactly whose fault that was. But he still couldn't say it.

He drew in a shuddering breath, mind frantically forming around a compromise. "I _know,_ okay. We all know. Slade is…Terra, take the factorial of the most horrible person you can imagine, and you'll start to have some idea of how execrable he is."

"Huh?" said Terra.

"He's bad, okay?"

She chewed her lip, swirling the peanut butter with more vigor. "That's what you guys said to me before. But I just don't get it. Just because a person has done some bad things, does that make them, you know, _bad?_"

"No. Terra, _no._" It sounded like he was punishing a disobedient puppy, but Robin didn't care. He felt cold. Even colder than he had been feeling recently. "There are two kinds of people: good and bad, wrong and right. You're either on the side of the law…or you're not." He sneezed, which he was pretty sure didn't really help him seem authoritative.

_Yeah: two kinds of people, sure. Which one are you? After what you did? You have no right, no right to lecture her…_

"But…" Terra stopped herself, gulped, and then began again. "Are you saying that there's no forgiving people, not anyone, just for doing a few bad things? You can never know if they'll keep doing them or not, right? You'd have to give them another chance, right?"

Robin was having trouble remembering if this was still about Slade, or if it was about someone else entirely. What he _did _know was that he was absolutely not allowed to pull the blanket over his head and tell Terra to go away. "Are you going to give them another chance when they've killed you and everyone you care about?"

"Well, no, I guess not—I mean, of course you shouldn't _kill people_ and stuff," Terra said thoughtfully. "But…like…" Her fingers were in her hair again, twisting it and tangling it around her ears.

"Like what?" Robin reached for a tissue.

Terra took a deep breath. "Umm, so say I have this friend, and he did something, you know, bad. But, I mean, he's not a bad _person_, really he's not, so I just don't understand how you _know,_ what you look at to tell which one of the two kinds of people he's supposed to be. You know? Maybe he's, like, sorry and stuff, you know?"

There were too many "you knows" in her question, and he couldn't seem to parse it; he could barely suppress the urge to yell at her that no, actually, he didn't know. Why couldn't people just say what they meant? "Terra, bad people are bad people. It's as simple as that. And Slade's not just bad, he's _evil_, and he can _never_ 'be sorry' enough to make him good." He looked her in the eyes, trying to force himself to focus on her rather than thoughts of Slade, saw something that shouldn't be there, and shivered. "Who's this friend?"

"Oh, oh, nobody important," Terra said quickly.

_She doesn't know _anyone_ besides us. She's talking about herself. Oh, god, she's talking about herself. _What had Terra done—and why hadn't he stopped it, and had he just said exactly the wrong thing, convinced her she could never be good, and why was he such a failure, why couldn't he just… He couldn't breathe.

"Hey, Robin? Are you okay?"

No. No, he wasn't okay. He'd never be okay again. Terra was leaning forward in the chair, as far as possible without falling on her face; she was starting to look concerned, as if she had just realized what she'd said. He should deal with this. He should keep talking to her until he figured out why she was confused and what to say to change her mind.

But right now, he couldn't be in the same room with Terra for one more millisecond, couldn't bear to discuss what made Slade evil, couldn't work to figure out what he needed to tell her to fix things.

"I…I need to go take care of something," he said, and he was out of bed before he had finished the sentence, trying to figure out where he had left his shoes.

"Umm—but—where are you going?" The chair was flat on the floor again as she slumped against its back, looking small and defeated.

Robin grabbed a water bottle off his desk with the feeling that maybe he'd been looking for something else. "Gym. And we'll talk about-- Tell your 'friend' that we'll talk about him later."

He found what he was looking for a few steps later when he tripped over his shoes. Terra covered her mouth with both hands, absolutely horrified, but he was too angry to think of a justification for his behavior. He yanked them on without even a glance at Terra, opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

She followed him out and started to walk down the hall after him, voice becoming more and more diffident with each syllable. "Well, I don't really think you should do that…because you're sick and stuff…and…did I say something wrong? I'm sorry…really, I am…are you mad at me? Robin?"

He thought about saying something but every word seemed to fall out of his mind before the next one started and he couldn't figure out what she'd just asked, so he just ended up sneezing again.

"Okay, well, I'll see you…later?" The tiny footsteps behind him stopped, and he knew that she had given up on going with him. Just as well. He had absolutely no intention of continuing the conversation, not right now, but he didn't want to have to explicitly tell her that she was not welcome. At least she could take a hint—if beaten senseless with it. He needed to exercise, needed to clear his mind.

And anyway, he had been lazy. Hadn't trained in almost two days. He needed to make up for lost time, and he needed to be alone. It would give him at least a couple hours to figure things out, to analyze this new problem, to accept the fact that one of his own team was uncertain about the way right and wrong worked…and to figure out what to do about it. If there was anything to do about it.

His head hurt so much. Didn't matter.

* * *

He liked lifting weights. It was easy, easy like running and like fighting. No thinking required, and yet it somehow simplified everything, made it manageable. Even though he couldn't stop thinking. Robin knew enough about psychology to know that trying not to think just made you think _more,_ but he didn't know enough to figure out how to turn it off.

It was better this way, because the world became nothing but the bench and the weighted bar above his head…and that made things okay. Feet flat on the floor; bar stabilized over upper chest, elbows locked, arms straight; momentary stop; bar lowered slowly to chest in a controlled manner. He felt a little shaky, but that didn't matter. At least he could breathe. And he hadn't been able to, when Terra had asked him about…all of that. Lying down made it easier, too: easier to focus, because ever since this sickness started, he kept getting dizzy when he tried to walk. There was a slight lingering sense of helplessness, of course, but it wasn't overpowering: knowing that he had the ability to raise the bar again and again cancelled it out.

Eight times, twelve, twenty-seven…then he lost count but kept going because he felt a little better every time he completed a rep, and if he could just do this forever…

"Richard. Grayson. What. The. Hell."

The words surprised him, and he lost the delicate balance, and that bar was going to break his face and kill him until a dark, outside force picked it up. Stopped it, stabilized it inches away from his nose, lifted it easily to rest on the rack just behind his head.

"Get up. Get up and look at me and tell me why you've gone _insane_." Raven's voice; he recognized it now. And she was angry.

He turned his head slightly, cheek damp against the bench, and stared at her in disbelief. "How did…how did you…"

Raven took a few punctuated steps towards him. "Terra knocked on my door a few minutes ago, absolutely terrified because you had made the worst decision of your life and had gone to the gym when you could hardly walk."

"I can walk just fine…" he started to argue, but she interrupted him.

"That's not what Terra told me. And given your track record of lying about your health, I'm going to take her word over yours." She considered this for a moment. "Not to mention that you were about to drop that bar and break every bone in your body."

"How would it have broken my legs?" he asked, confused as the detail captured his failing attention.

"That is _not_ the issue! Are you insane? What were you thinking?"

"You surprised me—that's all; I can handle this," said Robin, sitting up because he didn't like being in such a vulnerable position.

"Uh-huh." Raven didn't say anything else right away; she turned around purposefully and grabbed one of the straight-backed chairs over in the corner. Dragging it over to the bench, she sat on it with finality, rearranging her cloak and crossing her ankles. "Remember last week? When I said I'd give you the benefit of the doubt?"

"Yeah…"

"You just lost it. You're not leaving that bench until you've explained what's going on." She noticed something and glared at him furiously. "And if you so much as _touch_ that barbell again, I'm going to bend it into a coat hanger."

_And she would, too, wouldn't she?_ Robin would have laughed if he weren't fighting the urge to vomit. His hands were shaking, but it wasn't from the weight lifting. "Nothing's going on—I'm sick, if that's what you mean." He coughed, as if to prove his point, but managed to stop after just a couple, wondered if she'd stop asking him questions if he just kept coughing.

"How stupid do you think I am?" she asked.

He swallowed, took a deep breath, and pretended to think very hard about it. "Fairly stupid, if you're that convinced that I'm falling apart."

"It was a rhetorical question. And you knew that. You're also being really, disgustingly avoidant, and all it's doing is keeping you here longer…and convincing me even further that something's wrong."

Robin had always wondered how long it would last, how long it would take before he had to tell them. He'd tried to prepare himself for it, both for the horror of telling them, and for the rejection that would follow. But now, faced with the possibility of everything just…_ending_…he wasn't ready for it, wasn't ready at all, even though he'd thought maybe he would be. Robin closed his eyes, both because the light was hurting him and because he didn't want to look at Raven anymore. "Nothing's wrong," he said quietly, not even convincing himself.

He heard her shuffle uncomfortably, taking a few seconds before she answered. When she did speak, it wasn't with venom, and the strange feeling in Robin's temple told him that she'd been in his head. "Look. I know you're upset. Believe me, I _know_. To tell the truth, I've been feeling it for awhile now."

"How long?" He looked at her again, cautiously, afraid of the answer but wanting to be able to fully process it when it came.

"A few months," said Raven. She was choosing her words slowly, carefully, as if stepping around a field of land mines. "Since around that…incident…with you and Slade, back in November."

'That incident.' What a perfect description. He felt nausea mingled with a bubble of hysterical laughter that he fought back, starting to cough again. And he couldn't tell her not to talk about it because then he'd have to tell her why and that would be talking about it, but, oh god, what if she already knew why, and… Robin swallowed the lump in his throat, with effort, _hating _the burning, prickling sensation behind his eyes. He blinked to make it go away.

Raven switched gears immediately as if she'd felt his reaction. _Of course she felt your reaction,_ he reminded himself furiously. _That's the point_. "And no, for the millionth time, _none of us blame you_ for that, okay? So if that's what this is about, stop being a martyr. We've all told you exactly how much we don't blame you. And we weren't kidding, Robin."

He leaned his forehead into his palm miserably. "You don't get it."

"No, obviously I don't, but I can't get it unless you tell me, so if there's something you'd like to explain about it, I'm listening," said Raven. She leaned closer to him, eyes deep and serious.

Robin focused on the slow rotation of the ceiling fans in an attempt to look anywhere but Raven's face. He knew that this would be the end of the team—or at least, the end of the team with him as a part of it—but all the same, not having to hide anymore would be good. He had to deal with her reaction, first, though, and he just didn't want to see it; wanted to fast-forward to when he could just leave them all and not have to feel like he did right now. Maybe he could just leave, just walk away and not answer. But it wouldn't be fair to them to leave without an explanation. He had to let them reject him. This was so screwed up.

"I don't think you want to know," he said finally, more a compromise than anything else.

"Yes I do. I'm…" she paused for a minute, as if she were wrestling with herself about something important. "Well, I've been around the block, let's say. You're not going to destroy my fragile, feminine soul by exposing me to unpleasantness—I promise."

Truth be told, he it hadn't occurred to him to worry about that, because of course Raven could take care of herself…the real problem was whether or not he'd survive what she would say to him. He started coughing again, and she pointed meaningfully to his water bottle.

"…and I'm not going to think less of you, before you get that abhorrent idea. There is nothing you could say to me that would make me lose respect for you. No, not even whatever thing you're thinking of." She was completely sincere, and he knew it, but at the same time, he didn't believe her. She didn't know.

"Stop reading my mind," muttered Robin.

Raven smiled, very slightly. "You _know_ I'm not. Want to get back on subject?"

"No."

"Robin." She looked straight at him, and he could have sworn that she could see behind the mask, behind everything, and it made him want to hide somewhere. "What happened last November?"

He had never intended to say it. But her serious face and the fever and the memory of Terra's confusion somehow came together to _make _him say it, in the most horrible kind of way because he had no control. It was like those dreams when you know that opening that door isn't a good idea, and you're yelling at yourself not to do it, but all the same, you can't stop. "You know that…that he blackmailed me, right?"

Raven nodded, silently.

"Well, he made me…do things. Said that I had to prove that I belonged to him. That I was _his_. Are you disgusted yet?"

"Disgusted with _Slade, _yeah," said Raven, features colored with uncharacteristic fear…dread…something. "What did he make you do?"

When he tried to say another word, he couldn't get around the lump in his throat: he was too close to reliving, and suddenly no time had passed at all since it happened, and he couldn't breathe and couldn't forget…he dropped his head into his hands, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes and digging his nails into his scalp. Focus on the physical pain and it will be easier, the pain you can control…

"--bleeding!" Raven's voice cut through the roaring in his ears, and he looked up to see her reach for his hands. He pulled back, and she stopped, eyes soft and helpless, and that was a really unnatural, disturbing look for Raven. "Do you want me to…"

_"No!"_ No, he didn't want her to heal him, because he liked bleeding, it kept him in the present, kept him focused, and why was it so hard to talk…

"Robin, it's okay, don't cry…"

Gentleness. Sympathy. Fear of whatever could reduce him to being so pathetic. He hated it—all of it.

"No, it's _not_ okay, Raven, don't you get it? I _slept_ with him! I had _sex_ with _Slade_. Yeah, I know. He made me, because he'd kill you guys if I didn't, and so I… Well I did. And I won't make excuses because I--" He broke off, shaking his head. "And I'm not crying." He wasn't, but even he admitted that his voice sounded strained and choked and awful.

Raven's face was blank, unreadable, forehead wrinkled slightly and mouth wide open and slack. He had never seen her speechless since they'd met, and it looked very out of place on her. Fists clenched, knuckles deathly white, she exhaled with force. _Say something, just say how much you hate me and how you never want to speak to me again…_

"I…" She had to try again, several times, as if she'd forgotten how to make a complete sentence. But when she finally found something to say, it made him jump back in shock.

"I'm going to kill him. I'm going to fucking _kill him_."

It wasn't so much the profanity, but the death threat. They all knew the anathema on killing, and Raven's close encounters with it when she'd lost control of her powers were more than enough to turn her into the biggest pacifist of them all. But there was murder in her eyes, volatile energy ricocheting just underneath, and Robin half-expected them to glow red. It was absolutely terrifying, even when he was pretty sure that it wasn't intended for him—and that both relieved and confused him.

"Don't you think that's a little misdirected? Raven, I don't think you understand." He was desperate to convince her, because he couldn't handle this false hope; it was worse than hatred, so much worse… "I…I had _sex _with _Slade_."

"You mean Slade _raped_ you," Raven seethed. "And he's dead. He is beyond dead. I'm going to-- oh god, that's supposed to be on the ground!"

Her eyes widened, hand flying to her mouth, and Robin twisted around to see the barbell floating dangerously in mid air: except it was saturated in the overflow of Raven's powers, crackling with dark energy. Even with tears in his eyes, Robin was the leader (at least until he got thrown out), so he dealt with it, the near-disaster focusing him on the present better than anything else could have. "Raven, breathe, think about something else..."

Raven drew in one shaky breath after another, eyes closed, and finally brought the barbell to rest on the gym floor. She mumbled a sheepish apology.

"It's okay…you're upset with me…it's a lot to take in…"

"No, you dolt, what could possibly be wrong with your head that would make you…" She stopped herself with effort and tried again, voice softer. "I'm upset with _him,_ Robin. And believe me: the only reason why I haven't already gone to hang him with his own intestines is that I can't leave you here in the state you're in."

He couldn't even begin to address most of her argument, because the room was starting to get fuzzy around the edges and putting more than one thought together seemed like running a marathon, so he settled for refuting the obvious mistake. "I'm _not_ in a 'state'."

Raven ignored that. She closed her eyes for a brief moment as if she were getting things organized, then took yet another deep breath and turned to face him. "Okay. First of all, you're going back to bed before we have to haul your unconscious body to the hospital."

"I'm sick, sure, but I'm not that…"

"Yes, you are. I haven't had trouble with my powers for over two months. You're incredibly ill, and you're so upset that I'm about to lose all control just by having to deal with what you're spilling over. Look at me." She leaned closer but not enough to make him uncomfortable. "I don't know the details, and I don't need to know them. _Nothing _was your fault. Believe me when I say that we _will_ be talking about this later, but you're too sick to argue with right now."

He wanted to challenge that, wanted to insist that she had to leave him alone and let him get back to work…but, at that moment, he knew that they'd reached a point where he was no longer allowed to insist that. Or anything. Because now Raven _knew_. The idea that he couldn't pretend anymore was somehow both reassuring and terrifying. "Okay," he said, feeling more defeated than he had in a long time.

She stood up, motioning for him to follow. That trademarked control was back, but it was thin, manufactured, stretched. "Good. No, don't worry about the weights; I'll put them away later. Do you…do you need help walking?"

"No, no way," he answered quickly, with equal parts embarrassment that she'd even think he might need help and aversion to the possibility of her physically touching him.

It was a repeat performance of last night, now with at least six hundred percent more awkwardness. His heartbeat still hadn't returned to normal and he still felt nauseated, and Raven kept looking at him like she wanted to cry. Everything was exactly as he'd expected: exactly as he'd feared. He'd never even be treated like a normal human being again, much less a leader. For some reason, walking to the gym had been _much_ easier than this. To her credit, though, Raven didn't try to help him—just watched him very closely as he held the wall for support. Even when he fell into a spasm of coughing that left him on his knees, one hand clutching at the wall while the other weakly held him up from the floor, she just waited until he recovered and stumbled back to his feet. He didn't look at her, but knew she'd feel how much he appreciated that small consideration.

"Can I have my computer back now?" he asked once he'd opened his door, voice little more than a gasping croak.

"I hope you're joking," said Raven. The look she gave him suggested that she was absolutely not leaving until he was in his bed…so he complied, just because he wanted to be alone more than anything. And because the idea of Raven _helping _him was too sickening to entertain. Raven busied herself with retrieving something off his desk, something she must have left there last night, next to the pills.

"Thermometer," she said, handing it to him. It was one of those disposable kinds wrapped in plastic. "I'm going to trust that you're capable of holding it under your tongue by yourself."

Robin didn't see why that was necessary; he knew he had a fever…did it really matter exactly how much? But he did it anyway, because the other option was too humiliating to fathom. The thermometer beeped after a few seconds and he gave it back to Raven. _There, are you happy now?_

Her eyes widened and she muttered a curse. "105.2—how are you still alive?"

"Umm…"

"That was another rhetorical question right there," she said gently, forcing a smile. "And I think you might have the flu."

"Great," he muttered. Even more missed days of training than he'd thought; that much more difficult to make up for lost time. And what if they had a call while he was sick? He…couldn't think about that right now. It was too much, because he couldn't even accept the fact that Raven knew, let alone how he'd manage to fight when he couldn't even lift one hundred pounds.

She made him take some more medication: he wasn't happy about the sedatives, but maybe if he could just sleep, he'd stop being so useless, be able to focus. Sleep was just something he had to endure, and it was easier than trying to analyze the consequences of what he'd done. Maybe it was even a punishment he deserved. He couldn't say for sure: stringing thoughts together was becoming more impossible by the minute and the fever wasn't helping.

Raven sighed. She went to put the bottles where they belonged, and stayed there, which he liked because it gave him some space…and space was good. "Listen. I'm not gonna say 'everything will be okay' or any of those trite reassurances. You know who you can talk to if that's what you're looking for. But --Robin, look at me-- you won't believe me now, and you won't believe me next time I say it, and probably not the next either, but I'm going to keep saying it. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

He chose to ignore that. "You can't _tell_ anyone okay?"

"You're not_ listening_…"

"Swear, Raven. Swear you won't…" he forced out, holding back another cough, needing to get this one promise before he could let himself think about anything else.

"I _won't,_ and I swear, on whatever you want me to swear on,so stop worrying about that. Just sleep now, okay?" The horror and fear and disbelief were still thick in Raven's voice, but at least he wasn't picking up any hatred. Yet. Must be the fever messing with his head.

"Sure," said Robin, so quietly that maybe Raven hadn't even heard. He turned away from her and pulled the covers over his head.

He heard a click, and the lights dimmed. "I'll check on you later. You are not to leave your bed—and I _know_ you heard that, so don't even think about pleading ignorance."

"…'kay…" He was too tired to wonder where the childish response had come from. He didn't recognize the cracking voice. But it apparently satisfied Raven, because she didn't say anything, though he knew she was standing there, staring at him…and it was somewhat unsettling but he just didn't care enough to be bothered by it. At some point, she probably left. But looking up to check took more energy than he was willing to expend. Raven could stand there and watch him if she really wanted to. It wouldn't make any difference: he had no secrets from her anymore, nothing that could possibly compare…

Sleep. It was just something he had to endure, because he had to be able to do his job, had to protect them. As long as they'd let him. There was nothing to be done about it, kind of like—well, like _that._


	6. Simple Inconsistency

**Bright Line**

**Chapter Six: Simple Inconsistency

* * *

**

"…not very good. He needs more medicine but I don't want to wake him up."

"You think his fever's still bad? That's the thing I'd worry about."

Voices. Low so he could barely discern what they were saying. Talking about something, something important…talking about _him._ Robin hated being talked about when he couldn't answer back, but he didn't know where the voices were or what they meant—in actuality, he didn't know where he was, not really.

Maybe he was dead. But he couldn't be dead, because then he wouldn't hurt as much as he did. It was even worse than that time that Beast Boy had decided to use him as a trampoline. The voices were saying something else, about how they should go outside to talk so they wouldn't wake him up. What was wrong, what could have possibly happened that was so…

A puzzle piece snapped into place, and the truth became clear. Sickness. Terra. The gym, a barbell, a conversation—_that_ conversation…and Raven and pain and not hiding anymore, not being able to hide ever again. She knew, and who could say if she'd kept her promise or not, and maybe everybody else knew and what if…

But they were talking about him being asleep, and Robin latched on to that because he wasn't asleep, and it was something he could deal with, something he could respond to. "I'm awake, you know," he muttered, so hoarsely that it sounded like someone else.

The voices stopped mid-sentence. He opened his eyes slightly, squinting up at two Cyborg-and-Raven-shaped blobs and trying not to think about how tired and pathetic he must look.

"Oh, good; that solves that problem, then," said Cyborg. "We've got some presents for you." He was holding some tiny bottles that probably had pills in them, but everything was still so blurry and Robin couldn't read the labels. Probably for the best that he couldn't; he didn't really want to know what they were making him take.

"Hey," said Raven, softly. She was sitting in a chair by his bed—but not too close. "You can go back to sleep after you take your medicine. Cyborg, can you get him some water?"

When he looked at her for a few seconds, the room started to focus and he could tell that her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. Crying. Over him. He didn't know when or how long, but it made him sick.

"How long was I sleeping?" He struggled to sit up, grabbing at the sheets for support.

"Since around six o'clock…yesterday. You know what to do with this." She passed him the thermometer that she'd been holding, and he collapsed back against the pillow as he lost the support of one arm to accept it. When it beeped, she let him know that yes, he was still sick—apparently, almost as sick as he'd been last night.

Last night. Something was different about last night, something besides the awful conversation. He'd slept when he didn't want to, but he hadn't…hadn't felt…he looked at the clock on his desk, cringing when he realized exactly how long he'd been sleeping. Figures that Raven wouldn't tell him the exact number. He wondered absently if there was anything _else_ she was hiding from him.

Robin was glad when Cyborg returned with a plastic cup, because if he had to look at Raven's worried, helpless face for another second, he might actually start wishing he was asleep again, and that was just wrong. The two of them handed him what seemed like an endless collection of tablets, and he swallowed them mechanically and without complaint. He was through complaining. He'd lost his right to complain.

Luckily, there hadn't been much water left in the glass when a blinking, red light at Raven's hip distracted all three of them—because Robin promptly spilled it all over his bed.

_Does the macrocosm just hate me?_

"Got a call," said Cyborg, pointing to his own communicator. Robin couldn't remember what he'd done with his, but maybe Raven had put it somewhere…

"Oh, right, thanks for pointing that out," Raven spat, rising quickly from her seat and hurriedly putting the various bottles away, knocking at least two of them over. "Cyborg, can you…"

"Yeah, I'll get everybody organized; you finish up here." Cyborg nodded, disregarding the sarcasm in her first sentence and heading toward the door. They were completely ignoring him, talking over his head as if he'd never been the leader at all and it had always been this way, always been everyone for themselves with no direction…

But the next thing that Cyborg said pulled Robin out of his thoughts. He looked down at his communicator nonchalantly…and recoiled. "Slade. Wonderful."

Robin clenched his jaw tightly, staring hard at the place where the water had spilled and swallowing the lump in his throat. "I'm coming with you," he said, immediately frustrated because he hardly got the whole sentence out before the coughing started. Truth be told, he didn't know if he could fight, but he had to try. It wasn't safe for them to face Slade alone—and wasn't right of their leader to make them.

"Like hell you are!" Cyborg yelped from the doorway. "The only thing you're doing is sleeping, and the sooner you accept that, the easier this fight will be for us."

"I've been sleeping for _fifteen hours!"_ Which was more than enough sleep for at least three days. And as long as he was considering sleep, why didn't he feel…what was so different that…? He ignored it, focusing on what was important. "Look: I'm fine, I feel better, I can fight—I swear." The sneeze betrayed him. He reached for a tissue and Raven handed the box to him with shaking hands.

"Look at yourself, Robin! If you go out there, we're gonna be so busy trying not to let you get hurt we won't be able to focus on the fight!" Cyborg paused, either to compose himself or to allow his words to have as much effect as possible. "You're a _liability_ right now."

He felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach. He was, wasn't he? A liability. Robin looked down at his hands, which seemed so much smaller than they usually were, small and pale and trembling, and he shuddered in disgust. So this was their fearless leader: too sick to get out of bed even if he wanted to, and the very mention of their arch-nemesis made him want to hide under the covers. He wished he could run. Spar. Lift. _Something_. Anything would be better than lying here helplessly, but mostly he just wanted to fight, to do his job, to stop being the pathetic excuse for a leader that he had become.

"I just don't…" He felt his voice catch, and stopped speaking abruptly. _Oh, you're not quite weak enough yet, is that it? Now you need to _cry,_ too? Great plan, Robin. Great plan. _

"Cyborg, go get the others." Raven's voice, sharp and authoritative, cutting through the self-pity and allowing him to at least focus enough to regain some control.

"He can't fight, Rae; he can't even…"

"I _know _that. _I'll _take care of him—you take care of the others," Raven interrupted, getting more forceful by the word.

"But we need you to…"

"Cyborg. Go. Away."

Confused but not about to argue, Cyborg nodded again and sprinted out the door.

As soon as he was gone, Raven turned her attention back to Robin, which wasn't the best arrangement because he didn't think he could win an argument with her right now. "He's right, you know. You have to stay, no matter how much you don't want to."

With effort, Robin finally found his voice again. "I can't, Raven; I can't just…just leave you guys to…I don't even know." He looked away.

"Actually, you do know, and you have thirty seconds to tell me," said Raven.

His head hurt. A lot. "I…" He paused to cough, more than a little grateful for the extra time to think about what to say. Lying to her wouldn't fix anything; she was going to make him stay regardless, and it would just make things worse. "If he does…_something_ to any of you guys, I just couldn't…I'd rather die." It was the truth, and he knew it the minute he said it, because the only thing he was good for was protecting others. And yes, the fact that they were his friends didn't give their lives any more value than any other innocent, but the thought of _that_ happening to one of _his friends_ hurt so much more than any death conceivable.

When he risked a glance at Raven, the pain in her eyes was unmistakable. Pity. Again. "Alright. Listen. I won't let anyone get captured. I_ promise,_ okay?"

He'd like to see proof of that. "He's Slade, Raven. What are you going to do about it?"

"And you have a fever of 103.7: what are _you _going to do about it?"

Robin stared at her in indecision for a long moment, biting his lip, then he groaned and let his head fall back against the pillow, almost angrily. Surrendering hurt more than he'd been expecting, mostly because she was right; there was nothing he could do about it, and Raven's promise would just have to be good enough. And it wasn't. But it had to be anyway.

Because he didn't want to think about what would happen if it wasn't good enough.

"Good choice," said Raven. She was conflicted about something, a strange look on her face, and she took a half-step towards him before catching herself, placing one of her hands on the edge of his mattress like a compromise.

He remembered something. "Hey, wait: you didn't do anything with your powers last night by any chance, did you? Because for some reason…"

"We'll discuss that later," she interrupted curtly. Her tone softened as she changed the subject, and Robin didn't call her on it because sharp voices made his head hurt even more. "I'm sorry, Robin. I know you hate it. I'll see you after we win the fight."

"You mean _if_ you win the fight," he muttered miserably, turning away from her and wondering if this was the last time he'd ever hear her voice.

_"We will."_ The words were like shots fired from a rifle, and they made him feel a little better. Powerful as the man was, Robin still wouldn't have wanted to be in Slade's place this morning. Sure, the odds weren't good, but you didn't want to be on the wrong side of Raven's anger, no matter who you were.

Great: somebody was saving him _again.

* * *

_

He didn't know how much time passed or when exactly she'd left, because he might have fallen asleep again after that (or maybe not), but later, he looked back toward the door and it took him a few seconds to figure out why Raven wasn't standing there. The hallway was utterly silent, and, of course, the Tower was huge but Robin was good at knowing who was around and what they were doing; he was nearly positive that they hadn't come back yet. His breath caught as the realization hit that they really might not come back. They might be killed. They might already be dead. And Slade would have killed them-- and be on his way-- here-- now-- and he was completely helpless. His breath began to come fast and hard as the thought became more real with every passing second.

"What does it matter?" he whispered furiously. "If they lose, it's _my_ fault, I did this to them, _I_ got sick, _I_ failed to take down Slade, _I_ made Raven's control weaker, _I_ failed-- what could he do to me that I don't deserve-- I let them go fight him alone-- not even knowing-- oh god--"

How long had it been? Minutes? Hours? Sitting up with effort, he turned to look at the clock on his desk, trying to discern exactly how much panic should be allotted to the situation. How much more panic. He had to get out of here, had to prove he could move. Besides, even if they were okay, even if his failures hadn't destroyed his team yet, it was the height of laziness to just lie there when he wasn't even tired anymore. Maybe he could find some way to be useful.

The others had been gone for forty-five minutes. Not nearly long enough to worry, though he still worried, obviously. Robin shook his head and decided to try walking to the living room—better to get his mind off the problem.

Fortunately, it was a much easier task than last night's. Shuffling down the hallway in his socks (the floor was clean; Robin made sure that the floor was _always_ clean) took more effort than he would have liked, but at least he didn't do anything too humiliating. Better to get used to moving around like normal while there was no one to see him screw up, anyway. When he finally reached the living room, he had to sit on the couch for a few minutes to make the ceiling stop spinning, but he felt fractionally less pathetic. As long as he didn't fall asleep _again._

Predictably, everything was out of place, there were candy wrappers all over the floor, and someone had left the video games completely disorganized _(Beast Boy…)_. Well. At least he could do this. Better wash his hands first, though, because he'd coughed into them and if anybody got sick because of him, he'd never forgive himself, ever. Rationally, cleaning the living room wouldn't help the others stay alive, but it made him feel useful. Besides. Looking at the clutter made him angry. The team could be so careless sometimes. Why couldn't they just put everything in the _right _place? When they came back, he was going to find out who had left the area so messy and…

_Sure you will, because the only reason you're mad at them is because you're worried: and you should be; it's all your fault they're in danger, all your fault…_

He had just finished putting the video games back where they belonged (in alphabetical order by title) when he noticed the mail. It had just been left carelessly on a side table, some of it hanging over the edge or even spilling over to the floor. Robin sighed loudly. Several options immediately sprang to mind as to who might have done that.

What made him pause, though, was something lying half-obscured by a fan letter addressed in crayon. A compact disk, silvery and thin, encased in cheap, jewel tone plastic. He picked it up, opened the case, turned it over and over—careful not to touch the underside, of course. No label. No writing on the disk itself. The case was pristine.

There were innumerable explanations. Most likely, it was some movie that one of the team had been watching and forgotten to put away. Seemed like something Terra would do. Or Beast Boy. Or, probably, Beast Boy _and_ Terra together, because Robin could count the times he'd seen them apart lately on one hand.

In any case, it didn't belong with the mail and it definitely didn't belong unlabeled on the table.

Really, who left disks out with _no labels on them,_ anyway? How were you ever supposed to know where to find things when you needed them? He couldn't just stick it with the movies, because maybe it was somebody's music, or even something out of his workroom. If it was the latter, whoever took it was in so much trouble. Robin didn't take kindly to people messing with his property, not at all. But no sense jumping to conclusions. He could worry about that after he knew what was on the thing in the first place. And anyway, he reassured himself, if it was from his workroom, it would have been labeled.

One way to find out.

* * *

**Note to the esteemed readers:** Up until this point, the two stories have been taking place simultaneously, chapter by chapter. In upcoming chapters, the dates will be slightly different, story-wise. The next two chapters of Bright Line take place before Cognitive Dissonance, chronologically. For this reason, the next two updates will be Bright Line only in order to keep the dates consistent. Cognitive Dissonance chapter seven will be updated with Bright Line chapter nine. No promises, but I might look into updating more often while we're "catching up." Expect something similar to happen with Cognitive Dissonance in the future; the stories will eventually even out again.

Thank you very much for your support and toall who have been enjoying the story so far. If you have any questions about the updating situation, please feel free to ask. I love hearing your thoughts.


	7. Rules of Inference

**Bright Line**

**Chapter Seven: Rules of Inference

* * *

**

Robin had to pull at least four post-it notes off the DVD player before he could use it. After Terra had moved in, he'd covered it with directions, admonitions, arrows pointing to things that absolutely were not to be pressed under any circumstances. It wasn't complicated to _him,_ obviously, but ever since Terra had almost managed to permanently damage the entire system, he had been taking precautions.

He peeled away a note that said only, "NO!" in red letters, smirking and lining it up neatly off to the side with the other reminders. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't remember the last time they'd all watched a movie together. Starfire had tried a few days ago, but only managed to recruit Terra (it was more Terra's kind of movie, anyway: one of those awful _things _with no plot, no point and a lot of crying girls). It made him feel guilty that he hadn't joined them, though, because now what if Starfire and Terra were _dead_ and would never watch another movie again and it was all because they needed his help and he wasn't there…

Supporting himself with the side of the television, Robin shuddered and pushed the thought away. Right. The unmarked disk. Get his mind on something else. He dropped it into the player, pressing the appropriate series of buttons. _(No, don't think about the night that Terra ran into your work room crying about how the DVD player "hated her or whatever"…and you were so annoyed at the time but now that you think about it, it was kind of endearing, and why had you been so mean to her--you could have just explained it to her more clearly and…)_

The screen was fuzzy at first, dark and unclear, and he thought for a moment that it was just a blank disk—or possibly just not a video, which meant that he'd have to resort to other methods of finding out what was on it. It was certainly nothing he'd ever seen before…

Except, it was, and he realized suddenly that he _had_ seen it before, because he'd been there, and oh god he knew what this was but it didn't exist, it wasn't supposed to exist, he'd _watched _him destroy it... There must have… A second camera. Well, of course; how could he have been so stupid—obviously there had been a second camera, how could he not have _known_ that… Robin blinked away the tears, furious with himself for letting shock and horror get the better of him, frantically pressing button after button, but now he couldn't remember how to get the disk out—and his hands were shaking so badly that he couldn't have done it even if he did remember.

But then, something else cut through the growing hysteria—it was_ that_ and yet it wasn't, because there was something different, words that had been added, words that made him take his fingers away from the DVD player.

_"You're probably just about to eject this disk, break it in your little hands, and burn the pieces. And you also knew that I knew that. But I wouldn't destroy this disk, Robin; I wouldn't do that just yet if I were you."_

His voice. His voice over what was being said in the video, hard to discern when it was meshed with the original dialogue. They had been talking—thank god they were still just talking—about…something…he tried to remember. Whatever he had done to the others. Something about the limbic system. At that moment, Robin couldn't have remembered what the limbic system did to save his life.

Robin ejected the disk, hands still shaking so he almost dropped it. Nauseated, he realized that Slade was _right._ Slade was always right. He couldn't destroy the disk, not after that warning. And it made sense, too, of course: Slade would never send him something like that without some mechanism to make sure he _watched _it. Doubtless, there was information buried in the video, possibly critical information, and if he neglected to find it because he was weak and stupid and scared—then, well, the others had every right to find a new leader, because a _real_ leader wouldn't let something so trivial stop him from doing his job.

He had to watch it. Just not out here where anyone could walk in.

For them, he had to. And besides. He deserved it. His team was fighting their greatest enemy without him, and who knew how many of them would be coming back alive. _This is penance,_ he told himself, carefully snapping the plastic case shut and beginning the long walk to his work room.

* * *

He had to leave the light on. He'd never liked it while he was working, anyway, and he was quickly discovering that excessive light made his head hurt, but the idea of trying to watch it in the dark was too horrible. Robin sat down at his desk, turning the disk over in his hands, breathing heavily. It was worse, in some way, to have control over whether he watched it or not, and when, and how. Made it harder. Because no one would ever know if he didn't; there was no possible way they could know, so if he didn't, they'd never blame him…they'd never blame him if something happened because he didn't get this information…

But Robin would know. So he slid the disk into the computer before he had time to change his mind, immediately feeling better and worse all at once.

Then, the sick, cold realization hit him as he waited for the disk to load, the realization that went along with the tape existing but that he'd somehow managed to block out of his mind until now:

A bargain. His mask for the disk. At first, the mere suggestion had nearly sent him into hysterics, but Slade had convinced him, had told him exactly what he could do with the video…what he _would_ do with the video. And losing the mask had been the lesser of the two evils. So he'd done it. He'd done it for _nothing,_ and now _that_ was on the disk, too—which was exactly what Slade wanted, obviously. And since when had Slade kept his promises? He should have known. Should have known better. But now he'd have to see it.

_Of course he'd had a second camera. Of _course_, you _idiot.

Robin decided quickly that he had to keep his eyes on the screen, because the instant he looked away he'd _never_ look back. The room (_his_ room…oh, god…) they were in was dim, but unfortunately not dark enough that he couldn't see. Truthfully, he didn't really know what he was looking for, but he seldom figured out a difficult problem the first time he analyzed it. And then he realized that this was just the beginning; that he'd probably have to sit here and watch it over and over before he solved whatever sick puzzle Slade wanted him to solve. Except, it wouldn't be what Slade wanted, exactly, because the alterations were deliberate and he'd never intentionally send Robin critical information—but just because it was a ploy didn't mean it was insignificant. He had to think past what Slade had embedded consciously, had to…it was hard to think when he had to watch.

_"Very well. I expect that a lecture in neuroscience is in order. It's a simple matter of control, which is, of course, my area of expertise. In this case, controlling the second-order neurons in the lamina marginalis. The free nerve endings associated with this pathway are…"  
_

_"A-beta fibers, yeah, I _knew_ that," he interrupted, trying so desperately to sound confident, to not let his terror show, to not flinch at how Slade's eyes washed over him, not with that thoughtful contemplation it used to hold but with anticipation, the kind that came only with the sure knowledge that you'd be getting exactly what you wanted exactly when you wanted it._

_Slade laughed. _

Even now, he cringed, not at what he knew was about to happen but at the obvious, _childish_ mistake. He did know, and he still knew, and he'd known for years, and he didn't know why he'd said beta when it was _clearly_ delta… He'd been trying to keep him talking, about anything, because anything would have been better than what he knew was going to happen. And maybe he'd thought at the time that if they could just talk long enough, it would give him time to think of something, to think of anything… Robin bit his lip until the metallic taste of blood pulled him back to the present, back to being an objective observer. Stop it. Slade's reaction to that was _important._

_"…ventrobasal complex of the thalamus. That component was marginally complicated, but is overcome with little difficulty when…"_

He didn't hear the rest of that, because he started coughing again. Wondering how long he was going to be a slave to this illness, Robin forced himself to scan back to the beginning of Slade's sentence. That part wasn't altered, and explaining how he'd done it…Robin didn't really think he would try it again, but he had to be ready all the same. He'd have to write up a report on that—could do it when he watched the disk again. A sickness that had nothing to do with the flu threatened to consume him at the thought of watching it again, and he shoved it angrily to the back of his mind.

_"Interesting. Perhaps you'd care to explain your reasoning, because either you are vastly incorrect or this is some new branch of biology that I am unaware of." _

_He cringed visibly, stepping away with each word until he was against the wall and couldn't go any further. "…delta fibers don't have anything to do with pain…the signal starts in the peripheral nerve and ipsilaterally travels up the dorsal column and…umm…something about the medial lemniscus…Slade, _please!" _The tone was desperate, panicked, and not at all like his own. _

_"I'm disappointed, Robin. I thought you had a fraction more common sense than that. Delta fibers have everything to do with pain—coincidentally, they have been the focus of my study with your little friends. I did hope that you would appreciate my findings, but it seems as if, once again, you've failed to analyze the situation properly. One can't help but wonder if your friends would not be in such grave danger if you were just marginally brighter." Slade sighed and cupped Robin's cheek in his palm. "But since you are obviously unable to hold up your end of an intellectual discussion, let's move on to something more within your capabilities. Your clothes, please. Off."_

Some image, superimposed on the entirety of the screen for little more than a second: a map, with a legend he didn't recognize. He could pause it, obviously, and he had several methods of making the figure clearer. Who knew what it was. Likely had nothing to do with anything Slade was planning. But maybe he could beat him at his own game; he had to.

_"I knew that—it's delta, _of course_ it's delta…I _knew_ that—"_

_"I'm sure you did, Robin. Now, are you going to take them off or do you need assistance with that, as well?"_

It had been hard to fight the compulsion to fight, to protest, to do something other than just…just do whatever he wanted…like some kind of _whore_… It had been hard not to argue, to try to convince Slade that he did know—but he managed, because it didn't actually matter. It wasn't about whether he knew, knowing wouldn't make Slade stop. The foolish mistake hadn't stopped anything that wasn't stopping soon anyway; Slade had been wearying of the game, and it had just been a convenient opportunity to move on. But, god, it would have been so much easier if he could have fought back; even if he'd done it anyway, it still would have been easier… But Slade had made him be compliant, said that was part of the deal…no, stop it, _stop it_, stop _thinking_ about it like that—Robin swallowed another fit of coughing.

_"That's quite alright; you don't have to. Who should I kill first, do you think? The happy one with the pretty, red hair? You like her, don't you? Do you think we should bury them after they're dead, Robin? Personally, I wouldn't be bothered; perhaps we should just incinerate them…I'll let you be the one to do it, I think…"_

_"No!—okay, okay, I'll do it—just don't hurt them, please just don't hurt them…" His voice broke._

_Slade ran his fingers through Robin's hair. "I'd never dream of it._ _And if you do well, I can stop forcing you to make all of these difficult decisions, Robin. As soon as you show me that you belong to me, all the tests can end. Only you can decide whether to do that, or when." _

Having to watch the rest was almost worse than actually being there. Because at least then he'd been able to pretend it wasn't happening, to shut down and stop thinking, stop _existing_, convince himself that it wasn't real. And it had worked, a little, had made it easier until afterwards when the illusion wouldn't hold together anymore. But now, he had to think about it—because there wasn't any point in watching if he didn't; he had to dissect it and somehow force his brain to work so he could figure out whatever information Slade had given him.

He cringed away from seeing his eyes, looking straight at the camera for one moment with all the weakness and horror that no one was ever supposed to see. Robin had stopped looking in mirrors without the mask after all of this. Every time he did, it brought him back… It was like that space underneath the shower drain: you didn't go down there, you just didn't; you weren't supposed to see what was down there because it was impossible and wrong and depraved and immoral and…

_"Stop it-- please-- just stop..." _

Robin flinched at the pleading, knowing the answer-- but he'd known the answer even then.

_"You know how to make it stop, Robin."_ _The hand caressing his thigh paused slightly as Slade waited for his response, offering to end it all, to let him go._

_He bit his lip, not daring to open his mouth for fear of giving in, of trading innocent lives for his worthless body. The mockery of having a choice was agonizing, an added torture to the whole situation._

_Slade waited, then chuckled low in his throat and took Robin's face in his hands, staring into his eyes, his own holding some amusement but mostly triumph. "Just remember that you have all the control," he murmured, tone suggesting that the sooner Robin got used to the idea that he belonged to Slade, the sooner his misery could end. He touched one finger to the corner of Robin's eye and drew it back enough that they could both see the silvery droplet suspended from it. "It's your choice."_

Then, thankfully, he heard the first clue, the thing he'd been waiting for all along, weaved into the original audio like Slade's warning at the beginning of the tape. He had to listen to the relevant section several times before he got it all, but once he did, it left him feeling sicker than anything he could have been forced to relive.

_"I do hope you are enjoying my gift to you, Robin. Yes, unfortunately, our… arrangement did not transpire quite as I'd intended—as you well know. I wanted to assure you, however, that you need not concern yourself overmuch with thoughts of my loneliness. You might be interested to know that I have selected a…replacement, of sorts. Of course, I do miss you terribly…but there's no shame in the silver medal, now is there?"_

Drawing in a breath with difficulty, he gripped the desk with his hands to stop them from shaking. He knew it. Knew there would be something like this. And maybe Slade was lying, but he couldn't take that chance, because he'd rather…he'd rather go back to…he'd do it again, anyway, a million times over, if the other option was to have it happen to someone else. He was already filthy, spoiled—he couldn't let that happen to anyone else, he _couldn't. _Robin didn't want to think about it just yet, but already the words were sinking in as he tried to figure out who Slade might have been talking about. Angrily, he shoved away the pleading voice that just wanted it to be anyone but his friends: it didn't _matter _who it was; it was equally bad whether it was someone he knew or not.

He couldn't even think of where to start. Slade had access to more information than Robin had ever seen in his life; it could be _anyone_. The only possible lead was the disk. There had to be something there that would help him. Something Slade didn't intend for him to find. Or maybe he did; maybe he wanted a fight and was idiotic enough to think that Robin wouldn't be able to handle it (unless he really couldn't handle it…oh god, what if he…not again, not again, _please_ not again…).

No question about it. This had to be taken as a serious threat until he had proved otherwise. Had to be, and it didn't matter how much he couldn't bear to watch it—because he had to watch it. It was his fault that he had to watch it, anyway; if he hadn't been so stupid… Robin sneezed. Three times. It was getting hard to sit up straight.

That's when he heard the voices, muffled from behind the heavy door but getting louder. Before he could be properly horrified about the idea of being discovered, a flood of intense relief hit him, because he knew those voices like he knew his own and they were very much alive. No thanks to him. He still put them in danger. They were good enough to survive by some miracle, but that didn't excuse him for forcing them into the situation in the first place.

But then the panic took over, and he was frantically closing the video player and trying to get the disk out of the computer before anyone decided to see if he was in his work room. He hadn't thought far enough to have a plan for where he would keep the disk, so he snapped the case shut and shoved it in the middle of the upright row of disks that lined the back edge of his desk. It still wasn't labeled, and Robin had to squash an irrational urge to write something on it so at least it would _fit. _He didn't have time for that; he'd worry about that later.

"I have already looked and am distressed to report that he is not in his room."

"That kid…_oh, _he's in trouble…thanks, Star. I'm going to do the infirmary thing—Terra'll get upset if we leave her in there by herself for any longer." A heavy fist knocked repeatedly against the door. "Hey, Robin, if you're in there, you're not being cute, okay?"

Robin forced his voice to remain calm as he stood up and walked over toward the door. "Yeah, I'm here—is everyone alright?" They didn't know what he'd been doing. They weren't going to know, and besides, their safety was exponentially more important than his reputation, anyway…and why was Terra in the infirmary and oh god…

The door slid open and Cyborg looked down at him, shaking his head. "Robin, _why _are you awake?" Cyborg looked tired. Drained. He was standing next to Starfire, who had dirt all over her face and was holding a towel to her nose. They were the only two in the hallway. And yes, he'd mentioned Terra before, but what if she was in the infirmary, mortally wounded… Leaving her alone? But if Cyborg and Starfire were here and Terra was alone in the infirmary—oh god.

_What if they were the only two _alive?_ What have I done? I deserve worse, so much worse than that stupid video: Beast Boy and Raven and Terra, it's all my fault, I killed them, I _killed_ them…_

"Is…" The rest of the sentence broke off into a fit of coughing. "…are they…did they…?" He couldn't say it. Couldn't say it for more reasons than the coughing. Just that much more proof of how much he'd failed; he couldn't even own up to his own mistakes.

Cyborg anticipated the question that he didn't want to ask (and yet had to). "Christ, Robin. No, they're not dead. You _need_ to sleep."

"I did sleep!" He felt himself start to lose his balance and grabbed one side of the doorway, having trouble breathing. "Then where's everyone else if they're alright? You have to tell me what happened and I'm not just going to—"

"Robin, if you don't let me end this conversation and take care of Raven and Beast Boy, then they _will_ be in trouble. They're in the infirmary, which is where I'm going—and no, it's not serious, but I do need to be in there right now." He sighed. "See if you can talk some sense into him, Star."

Unfortunately, Starfire seemed to agree that this was a good idea, and promptly got between Robin and Cyborg's retreating form. She grinned. It was stretched, forced, highlighted by the towel in the middle of her face, and Robin didn't believe it any more than she did. "Friend, I believe that it would be most beneficial if you did not concern yourself with Raven and Beast Boy at this time. As you know, Cyborg is most capable in these matters."

"What about Terra?" The tightness in his chest returned.

"She is quite undamaged; she remained in the infirmary to offer...encouragement to friend Beast Boy," said Starfire. Her green eyes narrowed, losing their humor as she seemed to think very hard about the next words to say.

"Starfire, what happened to your nose?"

"It is nothing—please do not worry." Cautiously removing the towel from her nose, she took a deep breath and continued slowly. "Robin, sometimes I feel that you exert yourself…in excess. This…concerns me."

He stared at her, not really listening. Starfire was everybody's friend—she was good and clean and would never hurt anyone. _What if Slade wasn't bluffing? What if he's trying to get someone else…and it's her? What if it's Beast Boy? He's so innocent…it's not right. Not fair. They don't deserve this. None of them do. _

Robin had to stop it. He had no choice. He'd failed so much…but he wouldn't fail, not this time.

Without warning, he sidestepped Starfire and ignored whatever she was saying, trying not to think about what a good friend she was to be concerned and how he didn't deserve it. First order of business—find out for himself if the others were alright. He'd never believe it until he saw them. And then. And then he would—

Then he'd go back to his work room and watch that tape until he was _sure_ that everyone was safe from his mistake.


	8. Epimenides Paradox

**Bright Line**

**Chapter Eight: Epimenides Paradox

* * *

**

_"Bunnies!"_

He unintentionally closed the wrong window when he heard it, biting down a curse when he realized that he'd just lost twenty minutes' worth of analysis. Taking a deep breath, he tried to force his heartbeat to slow as he reopened the program. Maybe it was for the best. If he was hearing voices in his head, he had almost certainly passed the point where he would start making errors. Should go clear his head for a few minutes, should get out of this room before he started to really believe that somebody was talking about…

"Please, Robin? _Please_ come with us—they have bunnies! I won't even say very many annoying things; I promise!"

Why was Beast Boy trying to beat down his door? And did Robin _really _want to know who had bunnies?

He hurriedly saved his work (at least, the parts that he could salvage—did he _want_ his friends to be tortured?) and walked over to the door, sighing when Beast Boy made some comment about how the door wouldn't open. For all the times he'd taken up residence in this room, Robin had always kept it unlocked if he was there: he had a tendency to get absorbed and he wanted the others to be able to get his attention if they needed him. But this was different. He'd spent an hour making sure the locks were encrypted correctly. Bruce would have had trouble with it. _Nobody _was getting in here if he didn't want them to.

It wasn't just Beast Boy. He'd brought Cyborg and Starfire with him, all of them grinning. Robin blinked at them, the brightness of the hallway hurting his head, trying to think of something to say to get rid of them. He had to get back to work; the consequences he'd face if he didn't made him so nauseated that he couldn't even think about them.

"Friend!" Starfire clasped her hands in front of her, flashing an innocent, energetic smile. "I had begun to wonder if perhaps you were not coming!"

He didn't know what she wanted him to do, but he was pretty sure he didn't have time. "Coming…where?"

"Bunny Golf!" Cyborg and Beast Boy yelled in unison, looking at each other and smirking.

"…I'm sorry, what?" Ludicrous images of rabbits being hit with golf clubs settled themselves in the forefront of Robin's brain and wouldn't go away. That probably wasn't what they meant—_whatever_ it was they meant—but that's what it sounded like; and anyway, it was a really imprecise name.

Starfire nodded as if this made complete sense to her, which was highly unlikely. "Yes, we will attempt to maneuver brightly colored, spherical objects while observing tiny, delightful mammals…and it would be most splendid if you would join us."

"So, wait," he began, trying to give himself time to understand. "You want to play mini golf…and somehow there are rabbits involved?"

"Yeah, Bunny Golf, exactly," said Cyborg. Apparently, this was supposed to explain everything. "It's this new place downtown. You play mini golf and there are rabbits living around the holes and awww…"

"I have never seen such wonderful creatures myself—only in pictures—and am quite eager to do so." The smile had yet to leave Starfire's face.

Robin didn't like animals. He could possibly deal with a fish, if he had to, but he was generally unimpressed with the cute and the furry. And the idea of rabbits on a golf course sounded like a fantastically bad idea. It was hard to even think about it when his mind was on what he'd been doing just five minutes before. As it was, he couldn't think of a good response to Starfire's bubbly voice and big smile, so he settled on a blank look. A blank look that no one could see because of his mask. Fortunately.

"Oh, come on, it'll be fun! You know: _fun."_ Cyborg said the word as if he were trying to explain the theory of relativity to a llama. "It doesn't bite; I promise."

"Well, as…great…as this sounds, I really have a lot of work to do," said Robin. "Sorry, guys, but I'm going to have to pass."

Beast Boy rolled his eyes. "Work, work, work: the only times you've come out of that room in three days are when one of us forces you to sleep. And I have no idea why you've suddenly gone all obsessive-leader-mode, but it sure is lame, just so you know."

_Obsessive-leader-mode. If only that was what it was…stop complaining. _He tried to answer Beast Boy but ended up coughing—Robin felt much better, but the cough hadn't gone away, and that was just obnoxious. Sometimes, though, it did work in his favor. Like now, when he'd rather cough than think of a good answer.

"Y'know," said Cyborg with an almost theatrical sigh. "It sure is nice to see you, occasionally. Even if it always seems to involve you on the other side of that doorway, trying to figure out how quickly you can slam the door in our faces."

"Yeah, and it's not like it makes any sense, anyway," muttered Beast Boy. The bandage over his cheek probably needed to be changed. He'd been badly cut up during the fight—the others wouldn't tell Robin how. "We haven't even had any missions since the hospital. What could you have possibly found that was so important that you couldn't even tell us…"

"Okay!" Robin said it without thinking, louder than he'd intended, just to get Beast Boy to stop talking. He shouldn't agree to go with them, and he'd have to make up for it somehow, but if they kept begging, they were going to ask a question he didn't want to answer, and that would make things worse. Maybe he could convince Raven not to make him sleep tonight. "I guess I…could."

Surprise colored all three expressions as they stared back at him and Cyborg fixed him with an odd look.

Starfire was the first to find her voice. "Truthfully, you shall? Glorious!" She reached out, grabbed his hand and squeezed, dragging him down the hallway while the others followed behind, snickering. Robin focused on being thankful that he'd closed the video before answering the door, wondering idly how long he'd be able to stand having her touch him, praying that she'd let go…

"This'll be awesome, you'll see," said Beast Boy as they reached the living room. "They have bunnies! Bunnies!"

Starfire let go of his hand (as soon as she did, he put a safe distance between the two of them) and decided to make Raven and Terra her new targets. The girls were putting dishes away from dinner, a blue towel slung over Terra's shoulder as she reached up to stack the last of the plates. From the look on Raven's face, she already knew about Bunny Golf, and was considerably less elated than the rest of the team.

"Bunnies," she muttered caustically. "Why did it have to be bunnies?"

"Love you, too, Rae," said Beast Boy, poking her.

* * *

"Apologies! I was not aware that this metal tool would be quite so…delicate." She looked almost comical, standing there with her pink golf ball at her feet, wide-eyed, staring hard at what she'd done. The golf club was bent at an odd angle, deformed by some very distinct fingerprints.

"It's okay, Starfire; I'll get you another one." Cyborg took the badly abused club from her and left the group, presumably to go explain the situation.

Starfire cringed sheepishly and turned to Robin, speaking in a low voice. "It was simply not as sturdy as I had expected—on my planet…" She said something, probably something about what golf-club-shaped objects were used for on Tamaran. Robin didn't think he really wanted to know, but he nodded in what he hoped was a friendly manner while he thought about what Slade's map had to do with anything.

When Cyborg returned with a new club for Starfire, she hugged him and promised to be much more careful this time. It was her turn at the first hole, and though she could pick up most of the rules from watching everyone else (because of this, they all decided that she should go last), she wasn't very good. She hit the ball with far too much force and it ricocheted off the green and into the air, striking Terra squarely in the chest.

Terra's face went white but she caught the ball—her reflexes were getting better. "Ouchies," she muttered, handing it back to Starfire. "No, no, I'm alright," Terra amended immediately at seeing her crestfallen expression.

As they moved on to the next hole, Cyborg and Beast Boy attempted to explain to Starfire about the amount of force one should apply in mini golf. That wasn't necessary—she didn't have the experience yet, that was all. If they'd just let her practice, she'd figure it out, like everything else she'd figured out in the past.

The famous rabbits were confined by a high, mesh fence around the complex that was about as tall as Robin (which, according to Cyborg, was not very tall). Otherwise, they were uninhibited: the fence was presumably for safety reasons, to avoid untimely accidents involving the heavy traffic just behind the course…though judging by his friends' interest in them, perhaps the rabbits weren't exactly safe even inside the fences. Starfire in particular seemed much more interested in the rabbits than she was in the game, her attention wandering from the impromptu golf lesson as she gazed longingly at a brown rabbit hiding under a bench. There were a good number of them, mostly black and white, half-hidden behind low rocks and thick grass. Ahead of them, outside of the boundary of the course, a small child clung to the fence behind the fifth hole, little fingers hooked through the mesh, begging his parents to let him hold just one of the rabbits. Robin couldn't even remember being that young. It was another life that he'd forgotten how to live.

"Feeling better?" Raven's voice, casual and quiet while the others were focused on Starfire's golf ball problem.

It took more effort than it should have for him to overcome the very-sizeable impulse to tell her that no, no he wasn't feeling better, that actually he was feeling worse…and then to tell her exactly _why _he was feeling worse. The look on her face suggested that she wasn't asking the question out of casual curiosity—stupid empathy—and besides that, it made him… Well, made him think for one irrational moment that it would just be easier to tell her. Maybe the rabbits had something to do with it. The rabbits and the boy hovering over the fence and his high-pitched voice as he wondered aloud what you were supposed to feed to a rabbit…

But it wouldn't be easier. So he nodded at Raven and forced a thin smile. "Infinitely."

"Sarcasm isn't a very good look for you, in case you were wondering," said Raven.

Instead of looking at her face, Robin concentrated on the golf ball that she kept hovering in front of her. It was spinning gently, though you could never tell to look at it that she was using her powers. The shadowy outline was reserved for when Raven was serious. "Look, maybe you think I'm lying to you—"

"…not lying. Trying to impersonate me and failing. A lot."

"Whatever," Robin muttered. "In any case, I'm better. Really. I wasn't being sarcastic. It's just this stupid cough."

The golf ball fell neatly into Raven's palm. "You can tell me later." She said it in a way that meant that she had every intention of _making_ Robin tell her later. And Robin was pretty sure that she wasn't talking about the flu. They still hadn't really discussed…well…everything. Anything. Though he didn't really see what there was to discuss, of course. He'd often wondered why she still saw fit to allow him to continue leading—though maybe she was just nice enough not to force him to leave while he was sick.

He would have said something in response to that, but it was Raven's turn and Beast Boy was standing very close behind her, trying to get her to mess up. Terra's giggle got cut short as she seemed to remember something and then edged away with an almost terrified glance at Raven. She knelt down on the dirt path to pet one of the rabbits, curling herself up as if she was trying to make herself as small as possible.

Somewhere between the eighth hole and the tenth, Beast Boy got tired of playing correctly and resorted to rolling the ball instead of putting—and, when that didn't work, to conveniently-placed shoes that "accidentally" got in Cyborg's way. Six months ago, Robin might have been annoyed, but as it were, he just didn't think he had the right to criticize a team member. Besides, it was only due to Raven's good graces that Robin himself was still a part of the team at all, let alone the team _leader_…and who knew when she'd…

"Hey, Asparagus! If you do that one more time…"

Beast Boy grinned innocently. "What? I was just trying to rescue this poor bunny from your big, scary golf ball." He indicated the closest rabbit within reach, made to pick it up, and scowled when it darted away.

"If you like them so much, you should turn into one, 'cos they don't talk," said Cyborg.

"Best idea anyone had all evening." A rabbit sniffed Raven's foot and she closed her eyes, breathing deeply as if she were running through all the reasons why she shouldn't kick it.

"Anyway, I get another turn—that doesn't count." Cyborg shot Beast Boy a meaningful look.

"It does so count—you missed!"

"Why do _you_ care? You've been cheating the whole time!"

"I've only been cheating since the eighth…whoopsie."

Robin focused on the tiny lighthouse to the left of the next hole, staring into the electric light that was shaped to look like a candle and wishing he was doing his work. It was strange to have a model of a lighthouse with no water. Golf courses usually had a little river, so the people who didn't know how to play would have something to complain about when they lost their balls to the current. But of course, it wasn't a good idea to have water saturated with enough chemicals to make it sky blue when there were live animals around, so that was probably why…he _really_ should be analyzing the video. Slade's plans always came with a time limit, and who knew how serious he was about the idea or how ready he was to implement it—or if he already _had,_ even. Robin wasn't going to sleep tonight. _Wasn't._ He'd come up with some way to persuade Raven to leave him alone. Right now, what he really wanted to do was run until he couldn't run anymore, because Robin didn't like to stand still, and mini golf was way too slow paced for him in the best of circumstances—and after three days of either sleeping or sitting at his computer, he just wanted to _move._

_Get a grip. Stop thinking about yourself, stop it _now.Was there anyone in the world more selfish than he was? Innocent lives were at stake, and all he could be bothered with was how _bored_ he was with staying in one place…and how sick it made him to think about having to go back to that computer and… _Stop it; it's your fault, you did this…_

"Hey…guys? Where's Starfire?" Terra hesitantly raised her hand to interrupt Cyborg and Beast Boy's argument about the golf ball, raking her hair behind her ears with her other hand.

Cyborg didn't seem to have any intention of backing down, but Beast Boy immediately dropped the fight and turned his full attention to Terra. "Good question. I didn't really notice, honestly. Hey, Rae, have you seen her?"

Raven raised a dangerous eyebrow. "Call me that again. I dare you."

For one, horrible moment, Robin thought that Starfire might have been kidnapped, right there when he was supposed to be _protecting_ her, and as the forgotten golf club slipped from his fingers, his breath caught in his throat with the sticky possibility that he'd never see her again…

"Friends! I have obtained numerous amounts of the furry mammals, and have found that they are simply delightful!"

Hovering in the air a few feet above them, Starfire flashed a grin that could have blinded someone if they weren't expecting it. She was struggling to hold onto the half dozen—or maybe more—rabbits in her arms as she lowered herself to the ground. One of them, entirely white, chewed languidly on her hair, a peculiar, glazed look painted over its eyes. Starfire hoisted one of the rabbits onto her shoulder, and to Robin's amazement, it didn't fall off or even struggle. It just…lay there, lifting its spotted face a fraction of an inch to sniff at her ear.

She swished her red hair in an attempt to pry it out of the white rabbit's mouth. "I believe that perhaps I preferred them when they were more energetic, but I did wish to hold them myself, and these creatures did not seem too keen on that prospect, so I merely…"

Starfire trailed off and indicated the armful of rabbits with excitement, offering them to Robin who politely shook his head, and then to Raven who pulled up her hood and glared like a snake about to strike. Shrugging and pulling the rabbits back to her chest, Starfire just barely managed to catch the one that had been balancing on her shoulder. It didn't seem at all disturbed by this, settling back into her arms with resignation. Eyes widening behind the mask and stifling a laugh, Robin suddenly connected the glazed looks with the rabbits' obedience.

Cyborg voiced the concern first. "_Staaarfire_…did you stun those bunnies?"

Her round eyes reflected genuine confusion. "Such an act is unacceptable behavior?"

Cyborg cringed, looking around to make sure none of the staff had heard the exchange. "Umm, guys, I think that's about enough Bunny Golf for one…" He risked a second glance at the unresponsive rabbits. "…eternity."

* * *

He scanned back over a particular section for the twenty-seventh time. There was something there, something he hadn't put together yet. Missed it again. Freck. He had software that could find whatever was embedded there, if he just knew what he was looking for. He just had to see it, to ignore what it was over and see what he needed to see. Reverse the video. Again. Eyes captured by what he didn't want to see and unable to catch what he did. Twenty-eight.

The next thing he was aware of was his cheek against the cool metal of his desk. He forced himself up with vexation, wondering if he'd have to remove his chair from the room in order to stay alert. If he had to stand, he couldn't possibly fall asleep…and anyway, the idea of sleeping while the video was playing was somehow too much to stomach. He coughed, squeezing one eye shut and then the other in hopes that that would make them stop burning. Stupid headache was back. It could _not _be normal to be sick for this long. At least Cyborg and Raven had stopped taking his temperature every thirty minutes. He had to—

A memory of earlier that evening made him pause. The last time he'd gotten distracted, he'd lost twenty minutes' worth of work. Who knew what he'd lose this time? As much as he didn't want to, he needed to do something about the headache, at least. It was making him negligent, sloppy—and that was unacceptable. Robin minimized the video, set the monitor to turn off after one minute of inactivity. He had painkillers in his room, and he wouldn't be gone long. Besides, he'd lock the door.

Practically speaking, he probably deserved the headache anyway, on top of everything else he deserved, but it was keeping him from doing his job and that was more important than penance…because that was something he _wanted _to do, and the only thing Robin was good for was fixing things, protecting the others from himself…

Once the door to his room slid open, he turned the light on and cringed. He needed to install a system that would adjust the brightness level. His desk was a _mess_—he hadn't had a chance to clean it since the others had finally stopped hanging around in his room—but that was superfluous. Hesitating, Robin took a deep breath and removed his mask, carefully avoiding the mirror. He liked the way the adhesive stung when he pulled it off, and it immediately improved the headache situation. He almost wished that he could avoid taking any drugs altogether, but that would require keeping the mask off, which he would not allow. He _didn't like_ his eyes and he didn't want to see them because they reminded him and…

Robin opened the top drawer where he kept the small bottle of pills. He always tried not to use it, because Robin hated medication; it made him less alert, took that small fraction of control away from him. But he had no choice. He needed to get back to work, and quickly.

He swallowed three of them—water was for normal people—and carefully put the bottle away. One hand leaned against the corner of his desk, he rubbed the bridge of his nose and told himself that he'd just stand there for thirty seconds; thirty seconds and then he'd be better, then he'd be able to work for at least the rest of the evening. It annoyed him that he seemed to have lost all ability to go without sleep. He'd been able to last for four days before he got the flu. The area around his eyes always felt strange and exposed when he took the mask off. Sometimes, Robin could almost forget that he even _had_ eyes at all, could tell himself that there was something else under the mask that somehow allowed him to see. Thirty seconds. He just needed thirty seconds…

"What the hell, Richard? What the _goddamn hell."_

A burst of energy that was somehow dark and bright at the same time made him stumble backward, jerking his head around to face the center of the room. He felt his eyes widen, mouth limp, hand falling away from his face of its own accord.

Raven, standing there as clearly as the disk that hovered a few inches in front of her, murderous expression on her face. "You've got ten seconds to give me a reason why I shouldn't smash this into a thousand pieces." She pointed to the disk with venom that could only indicate exactly which disk it was, and what she'd seen on it, and Robin just stared at her, completely unable to categorize what order of nightmare he'd fallen into.

He tried to make something come out of his mouth besides stammering, but there was a lump in his throat the size of an apple.

"…five, four, three…"

"Raven, don't!" He managed to choke out the plea, not even caring how desperate he sounded because right now he'd do anything just to get the disk out of her possession. Everything else he refused to devote energy to—everything else about why and how and humiliation and betrayal and none of that mattered as long as he could get the video back, because he had to. It was the only way to stop Slade. He had to have it back.

For a split second, it was Raven's turn to be speechless. But Raven was seldom speechless for very long, and this was no exception. "_Don't?_ Don't what, Robin? Don't let you torture yourself with this sick stunt that you've somehow gotten yourself to believe you should be going along with?" The disk outlined itself in obsidian energy. "Your time's up. And I'm not convinced. I'm destroying this…"

Blood rushed to his ears, very unpleasantly, and his headache was fast returning with a vengeance. "Please, please just listen, just give me a minute—Raven, he's going to _do something_ to someone!" He sounded like a five year old and he didn't care, just trying to get the words out so maybe some of them would make her drop the disk. He couldn't breathe.

"Enlighten me," Raven spat.

"Look, it's been altered, okay? He's embedded information in there—was sending me a message about what he's going to do if I can't figure out his plan." Her unwavering glare made him wish he could hide behind the desk. "Maybe you don't believe me, but Raven, I can't let anything happen to…" He swallowed with effort. "…I can't…I…"

His eyes stung and everything was quickly becoming blurry. Robin bit the inside of his cheek, trying to ground himself in the taste of blood, bringing up one hand to cover his eyes so he wouldn't have to… Something was wrong. Skin on skin, no cloth in the way like always. He—he wasn't—oh _god._

The sharp intake of breath sounded like someone else; some_thing_ else, a trapped animal. Hand still covering his face, Robin turned desperately towards his desk, looking down through the cracks in his fingers to figure out what he'd done with the mask. How could he not have realized, how could he have been this dumb, how many more mistakes was he going to make before _everyone _died because of him…?

Raven had been quiet through all of this—either that, or she hadn't been quiet and Robin just didn't have the mental energy to spare on listening to her—but once he got the black cloth over his eyes, his chest felt slightly less constricted, and he could at least attempt to focus on what she was saying. "…think about it, okay? You're tired, I'm tired, we both want to pretend the last fifteen minutes never happened—arguing about this at two in the morning isn't going to help."

"Wait...think about...what?" He gripped the desk so he'd have something to do with his hands, and because that kept them from shaking so much. Every breath he could force into his lungs made the stinging in his eyes slightly less insurmountable. He was okay. Maybe.

"Let me think about whether or not you can have this back," said Raven, indicating the disk that she'd still refused to touch. Her voice was quieter now, though still more resolute than he would have liked. "And let me tell you: if you so much as think about trying to rush my decision, this…_thing_ is getting shattered."

"But I can't just let you take it!"

"Yeah, well I didn't ask your opinion." She closed her eyes briefly, and when she looked at him again, her expression was softer. "You have my word that I won't touch it without talking to you first. Okay?"

He considered it miserably. What choice did he have? And anyway, he was _begging_ for the thing that he wanted destroyed more than anything in the world. This was so screwed up. "Okay," he whispered, staring at the wall behind Raven.

Raven took a step towards him, seemed to hesitate for half a moment, then extended her hand. "Shake on it?" The question was as tentative as Raven ever got.

For some reason, it immediately reminded him of Terra's welcoming party—he hadn't wanted to do it then and he certainly didn't want to do it now, but if it would keep Raven from destroying the disk, then he'd do it. And, really, how much worse did it have to be for her? Actually having to _touch_ him when she _knew... _He accepted the handshake, briefly, so horrified by everything else that had happened that he didn't have any left to be horrified by the contact. It mostly just made him feel numb.

Immediately moving away to put distance between them, Raven let the disk drop into one of the pockets in her cloak. "Now. We both need to go to bed; we'll handle this later."

"I don't want to handle it." He felt the tears threatening to return, and he squeezed his eyes shut against them.

"I know," Raven said gently. "Just sleep." She turned and started towards the door.

"But Raven…"

_"Sleep." _The door shuddered closed with her on the other side of it.

Under normal circumstances, he'd never have listened to that, but her words made him feel as if he'd been given some shaky permission to be weak, and though it probably wasn't the right thing to do, he collapsed on the bed, not caring enough to change his clothes or even turn off the light. And anyway, if he was as uncomfortable as humanly possible, maybe it would make sleeping a little less wrong. His headache had spawned a whole new mutant breed of headache, and the stupid painkillers weren't helping—but that was good. He deserved that. Deserved it for being the worst leader in the history of the world: too stupid to even remember that Raven could phase through doors so of course what lock would keep her out. And too weak to keep his mask on just because his head hurt a little. And too pathetic to even convince Raven to give him the disk back, and now who knew what would happen…

His eyes were wetter than they should have been when he closed them.


	9. Dagger Function

**Bright Line**

**Chapter Nine: Dagger Function

* * *

**

Robin was avoiding her.

It made him angry, because he _wasn't_ avoidant. Robin faced his problems. He dealt with them because any problem he had, he had earned. And he'd dealt with worse than this; of course he had. So why was the idea of looking Raven in the face suddenly the most insurmountable thing in the world?

He'd tried to justify it by telling himself that she'd demanded to be left alone—and he had no way of knowing what small phrase, what impatient glance might make her angry enough to destroy the disk outright. For all her valiant attempts to keep herself in check, Raven was one of the most emotional people he knew, and when something happened that shook her control, her mood became volatile. And the conversation three days ago was certainly more than enough to qualify. So if he ever wanted the disk back, he'd do well to stay as far away from her as possible and try not to breathe the same air as she did.

Except, that wasn't why Robin was avoiding her, not completely. He was forced to think about it every time he walked past his work room with the knowledge that he didn't have to go in there and... Robin was _glad_ that he could avoid Raven, he was _glad_ he didn't have the disk, and he was absolutely _relieved_ that this meant at least a few days when he wouldn't be watching it. That was it. That was exactly it. He wasn't avoiding Raven because he'd been asked to: he was avoiding Raven because he didn't want to talk to her and would take anything as an excuse to keep away from her.

In other words, he was a worthless coward.

Robin had been spending more time with Cyborg. More time than he spent with the others, at any rate—he mostly just stayed in his room studying. Cyborg was easy to be around because he was friendly but not invasive, and had no problem with long silences. Beast Boy and Terra were attached to each other—seeing them together was more than a little nauseating—and Starfire always got so sad when he didn't want to talk. Besides, whenever she concluded that Robin was unhappy, her inevitable solution was something like those movies she liked to watch. Cyborg didn't mind being quiet, didn't take offense to it, and was perfectly happy with keeping a safe distance from Robin. They'd been working together a lot lately. Yesterday, they had spent three hours debugging the computers. Raven had declined to comment when he'd passed by her afterwards, on the way back to his room. He'd managed not to flinch when he saw her, and was horrified to realize that he considered that a success.

He turned a page in the book he was consulting, squinting at the endless rows of numbers. Statistics wasn't hard as long as you could remember how to calculate the degrees of freedom—though the F Distribution was one of the more complicated tables, and he was very close to giving in and turning on the overhead light so he could see the values more clearly. Robin was trying to get through this class before the summer, and he should have done the ANOVA assignment days ago…it was just too hard to focus when he kept misinterpreting every look Raven gave him. At least, he hoped he was misinterpreting. He coughed, and lost the spot on the table that he needed (Cyborg had warned him that the respiratory symptoms from the flu could linger for weeks). Great. Start over. How many degrees of freedom were in the between-treatments variance…?

Robin had just written down the critical value when his computer started blinking.

He gasped sharply. "Shit." He'd said it before he could stop himself, and that was almost worse than his reason for saying it.

Cringing, Robin bit his lip and placed his pencil on the desk with deliberation. He had a very, very good idea of who was calling him, and it made his chest get tight with that cold, tense feeling that meant he'd forgotten something important. Well—maybe not important, exactly, because keeping promises with Bruce was relatively inconsequential when he was trying to save his friends…but Robin hadn't been trying to save his friends. He'd just been hiding. He'd been avoiding Raven and avoiding his problems and avoiding doing his _job,_ and now he was in a lot of trouble…

_Stop it. You're not nine years old anymore. He _doesn't _control you. You can forget to call him if you want. You don't even have to answer him now. He can't make you._

Except he could make him, and Robin did have to. Bruce would just keep calling, and if he made him angry enough, maybe he would stop funding them, and then how would he ever explain to the others why they didn't have a home anymore—he had to. As if it had ceased to be connected to his brain, his index finger pressed the key that would open the communication. _How_ could he have forgotten? There was no excuse, none…

"Wonders never cease: it seems you're still breathing."

Robin was always hearing from just about everyone how scary Bruce was when he was angry. They were right and wrong. Bruce was _terrifying _when he was angry, but most people didn't _really_ know what it looked like. The cold, callous looks that he reserved for criminals weren't the kind of anger that Robin associated with him. He knew that Bruce didn't really mean it, then. It was somebody who stole something; he wasn't angry at them, personally. But Robin knew the real anger when he saw it, and he was one of the only people who had ever seen it: the look that affected him even three thousand miles away on a computer screen, made him a stupid, helpless little kid again. He didn't even like the stupid vidlink. Robin never wanted to watch another video on this computer again. He felt sick.

"I'm not tolerating the silent treatment, Richard. _Answer me."_ His tone was low and dangerous. Robin had learned to avoid that tone at all costs.

Robin couldn't even remember what the question was. "Yeah…?" He shrugged evasively.

"Look at me and speak like a human being," said Bruce. "I hope you have a good explanation for why you didn't keep the agreement you made two weeks ago. Because otherwise, I'm going to assume that you've just become negligently irresponsible."

A good reason. He had some reasons; he could say it was about a video and Raven and the flu and his team fighting without him, but none of those were good ones, and they definitely weren't reasons he was going to offer. "I was…I…" Robin tried to look away again but couldn't. Not like Bruce could have known, because of the mask, but you didn't look away from Bruce, and if you did, he always _did_ seem to know, even though he couldn't. "…busy," he finished at last, feeling the panic rising in his chest.

"Busy." He paused for a long moment, glaring. His jaw was tight. That wasn't good. "Yes, I'm sure you were very busy. _I'm_ busy, Richard. But if I make a commitment to call someone in fourteen days, I don't wait around for them to call me after seventeen days."

Robin leaned back in his chair, trying to put as much distance between him and the computer screen as possible. "Look, I'm sorry. I've just…" He swallowed the rest of that sentence because he couldn't think of anything to put on the end of it that wasn't incriminating. But he didn't need to worry about what to say next. Bruce had that covered.

"You _need_ to get your act together. What's the matter with you?" The force behind the words made Robin cringe. "Have you lost the ability to count now? Has time lost meaning? Have they changed the calendars in California and made weeks longer?"

Once, when Robin was twelve and they'd been working, he had disobeyed Bruce and gone off on his own—he couldn't remember why. That was the number-one rule: Robin wasn't supposed to leave his side, but that one time, he had. Nothing had happened to him, but something could have, and he'd been in trouble to the nth degree. It wasn't so much that Bruce had been angry, but the way he looked at him with that disappointed almost-pity that meant he had absolutely no respect for Robin at that moment…

And this. This was the same look. Only it was worse now, because he didn't _deserve_ any respect, and Bruce didn't know the half of it.

"Everything's about choices, Richard. You'll never be a real leader if you keep making the wrong ones. Calling me, maybe it doesn't matter—but you gave me your word, and that used to mean something to you."

His breath quickened a bit at mention of choices, and his eyes widened behind the mask. He forced his thoughts to the present. It did mean something, but that was before…before his word stopped being worth anything because _he_ wasn't worth anything anymore… "I'm sorry…I forgot…" His hands were shaking. He gripped the underside of the desk tightly but that didn't make it stop.

"Are you going to tell Slade you forgot when he's captured your entire team?"

He couldn't breathe, lungs catching on a barely-restrained sob that had nothing to do with the cough. Bruce was right. That's exactly what he'd been planning on doing, because he'd been hiding from that stupid video for three days instead of doing his job, and he'd been glad of it, he had—how could he ever face the others? Robin forced his voice to work again. "No, I…I tried…I never…" He had to pause, trying to get at least some air into his lungs because he still… "…please don't be mad at me," he whispered, and at that moment he was nine years old again, nine years old and all he wanted was for Bruce to say he didn't mean it, that he would make everything okay even if that was impossible but Bruce did the impossible on a daily basis and if anybody could…

Bruce sighed heavily. "Oh, I'm mad, but I'm mostly incredulous. Is keeping a simple appointment to make a phone call really so far outside your capabilities?" He shook his head, giving Robin that _look,_ the one he hated, the one that meant he thought Robin was worthless. "One might start to wonder what _is _within them."

_But since you are obviously unable to hold up your end of an intellectual discussion, let's move on to something more within your capabilities…_

He didn't know why he did it. Didn't know why that one sentence was somehow too much, the pebble that shattered ten feet of solid granite. Robin was not easily upset, so he wasn't used to classifying what it felt like, but there was a kind of moment, a point where something _split_ inside of you, and anything that came after was beyond any semblance of control. If he was thinking rationally, he would know…but he couldn't think rationally and couldn't remember a time when he had ever been able to, and he shouldn't be feeling sorry for himself like this but he _was,_ was so, so selfishly sorry for himself because of everything and now Bruce was _mad_ at him and then it was Slade, amusement in his voice, and then Bruce again, and the anger, and it wasn't fair and why did this have to…

"Richard, are you listening to me? What's…"

Bruce said some other things, but Robin didn't know what they were and he didn't care. He put his head on his desk and prayed that the disgusted voice and the glare and the set jaw would go away. Prayed that the amused, superior tone and the anticipation would follow. He had to get Bruce to end the call. That would probably make him even more angry but it was better than…well, better than what he'd see. Robin just wanted to be alone. The idea almost made everything even worse because Robin didn't want to be alone, not really, and yet he did, because it was easier that way, made the weakness less evident because at least then nobody knew. At least then he'd be alone…at least… It had been the same after…after _it_ had happened. He'd showered for forty-five minutes and then went to his room and stayed there. For a long time. Though he hadn't acted like…like _this_…but oh _god_ he was _thinking_ about it again—

A hand on his shoulder. Robin lost whatever composure he'd been holding onto, jerking his head around to see whoever was attacking him, to try and get away…and it took him awhile to realize that the hand was attached to an arm that appeared very similar to Raven's…he didn't know what she was doing in here or how she got in here, just that he couldn't breathe and he wanted her to _go away_ and that he'd die if she left him alone with Bruce almost-yelling in that too-controlled voice, and Slade sneering and _touching_ him.

Raven was talking to Bruce, casual and unperturbed, and that was suddenly hilarious because—well, he didn't know why it was hilarious, come to think of it, but he almost laughed, though it came out more as a sob. She didn't even appear disconcerted by Robin's reaction: it was as if this was how he acted every day and Bruce was clearly out of his mind for not being perfectly used to it by now. But she did _do_ something: he noticed the way her eyes narrowed in concentration because he was staring at one spot on her face hard enough to bore a hole in her head. Raven winced, trying to hide it but not quite succeeding; and then, whatever she did with her powers, it took the edge off the emotions that were strangling him, gave him the ability to close his mouth and be quiet and think about how strange his hands looked when they were shaking like that—

"…very sick and shouldn't even be out of bed…call him later if it's this important, but right now…"

"…is between him and me, and…" Bruce looked really mad. Of course, it wasn't Raven's fault, he was mad at _Robin,_ not her, and Robin really should apologize but if he tried to talk he was just going to…

"And you will _call him later."_ The tone was sharper than Raven's usual—at least, it sounded like it. Robin hoped that _she_ wasn't mad at him, too.

She reached out and stabbed the appropriate key to cut the communication; the screen went instantly dark and silent, which Robin liked because the screen reminded him of the three days of watching the video. Three days and every time he reversed the player to the beginning he had to fight down the nausea and the shame and the oh-please-_god_-don't-make-me-do-this, but he had to do it, he had to, and it took him several shaky breaths to realize that he was speaking out loud, speaking to Raven even as he stood up and tried to back away from her.

"Robin…Robin, can you hear me?" Her voice was as level as it always was, though he thought that maybe she had tears in her eyes, or maybe that was him because he wasn't sure anymore, just that it was hard to see and that he kind of wanted the mask off—and what was the point because she already knew what he looked like, anyway, but even so, the idea of her seeing him again, looking into his eyes, into his mind, seeing what he had become—it was sickening, as sickening as he was, as the cold lump in his stomach that was making it hard not to throw up.

Robin shuddered and took another step back, running into the desk sharply. He didn't know why he was shaking his head, because he _had_ heard her, obviously, or he wouldn't be responding to the question in the first place. "I—but I—he's mad at me, Raven, he's _mad _at me, he's mad at me, he's…"

He stopped speaking abruptly, chest frozen in horror when he realized that Raven was touching him, arms around him tightly and not letting go when he tried to struggle away. He hadn't been so physically close to anyone since…for a long time, anyway, and Robin hadn't liked it even before Slade had…done _that_…and he certainly didn't like it now, and he was shaking so badly that he would have fallen over if Raven hadn't been holding him up—probably using at least a measure of telekinesis, too. He fought her, but he couldn't really remember how to push her away, and besides, his arms weren't listening to him.

"Please, Rae, don't…" He wondered if she knew that he was just saying it because he'd given up. Robin had absolutely no expectation that she'd actually let him go—and she didn't, just held him in silence as he tried not to think about what touch meant to him.

And at some point, he was able to stop thinking about it, because he got distracted by wondering what method Raven would choose to kill him since he called her 'Rae,' though she'd probably wait at least until he stopped crying…he _was _crying, wasn't he? The last time Robin had cried (_really_ cried), he'd been thirteen years old and had broken his arm in four places. He hadn't even cried when…and after…and…he shuddered and wrapped his arms around Raven's neck and buried his face in them. She was still too close and the panic was still just under his skin, held down by something he couldn't name, but he…he just…he just wanted somebody to _care,_ somebody to hold onto, and…

* * *

He didn't know why he was on the floor. More specifically, he didn't know why he was on the floor with his head in Raven's lap, her fingers brushing back hair he could feel was damp with sweat. Somehow, that had happened, apparently—he didn't know when.

"S-sorry, Raven," he stumbled over the words, cringing at how raw his voice sounded and trying to sit up.

She placed a firm arm across his chest, holding him down, and he felt the panic and the tears threatening to return. "No, don't get up yet; _mal idée, _Robin.

"Huh?" The phrase distracted him enough to keep a hold on his composure.

"French," said Raven. Her hand relaxed as soon as he stopped fighting, resting almost casually on his shoulder, more as a place to put it than anything else. "Bad idea."

"French was a bad idea," he muttered, closing his eyes. "I was never any good at it—couldn't get the subjunctive right…" And as he spoke, something began to make the words too slippery to say, something inside his head that might have scared him if he hadn't know it was Raven, and besides, it felt nice…

Raven let him talk about how to conjugate the subjunctive tense for awhile—he didn't know how long, because the next time he opened his eyes he had the feeling that he maybe hadn't been talking the whole time. His eyes felt like they'd been lined with sandpaper, but moreover they were heavy in that way that meant you'd almost fallen asleep but stopped yourself. He'd done that a lot while working, so he knew what it was like.

Despite a terrible headache, he did notice that his breathing was slower, and he didn't feel quite so close to…collapsing again. Cautiously, wondering if she'd let him, he tried sitting up. Raven supported him until he could lean against the wall, but she didn't try to keep him down.

"Better?" she asked softly. Raven looked really tired. And she'd definitely been crying. Maybe under different circumstances, he would have thought about what to do with those observations—but as it was, all he could do was notice.

It took him a few seconds to remember that he'd been asked a question, a couple more to remember what it was. He nodded, not trusting his voice just yet.

A slight wrinkle in Raven's forehead brought the box of tissues on his desk into her hand, and she offered it to him tactfully. Well. At least she didn't try to get him to blow.

"You should sleep now," she said, moving back slightly to put a few inches distance between them. He still felt her presence in his mind, though—it was a kind of warmth, something that made him want to smile without knowing why. "I'll help you get to your room…"

Sleep—_no._ He couldn't sleep, not after all that; he _hated_ sleep but this would be so much worse and even if his dreams hadn't been so bad lately for some reason he couldn't take the chance that maybe this time… Something clicked.

Wait. A. Minute.

He took a deep breath, tried to find the courage that had evidently taken a permanent holiday, and turned to face her, putting the tissue box by his side. "Raven, what did you do? What did you _do,_ Raven, _god_—I thought you'd been doing something when it wasn't so bad anymore and…" Robin felt his pulse quicken as he tried to keep control over himself with little success, mouth suddenly dry.

Raven's hands grabbed his even as he tried to pull away, held them to forcibly stop the shaking. She stared at him, straight at the mask with the gentle confidence that meant she _knew_ he was looking back at her. "Okay. You wouldn't have let me do it if I'd asked, and you weren't getting any rest otherwise—Robin, you had a fever high enough to _kill you._ I can think of a lot of things that might have happened to you if you didn't actually sleep while you were sick, and none of them are good."

"But what did you _do?"_ He wrenched his hands out of her grip and she let him.

She shrugged as if she was informing him that she'd cleaned the kitchen sink that morning. "I took the emotions from your nightmares—I can't experience the dream itself, so don't think I was trying to spy on you—so you got the memory, but not the feeling behind it."

It connected in his head a split second after she'd said it, the magnitude of exactly what she'd done, and he realized what an idiot he'd been for being concerned about a simple invasion of privacy. "Raven…" He caught his breath with effort. "You've been experiencing my _pain_ for me?" All this time. He'd been so selfish and never realized what it was doing to her. How could he…how could he have hurt her so terribly… Robin blinked back tears—not _again._

"Yes, actually, I have, but I _wanted _to, okay? Don't even do that, Robin. The last thing I'm going to allow is for you to start apologizing. If you're going to be pissed at me for not asking permission, then be pissed at me, but don't you _dare_ start blaming yourself for _my decision."_

"Raven, you've gotta stop; it's hurting you…" His voice broke and he could only shake his head ineffectually, hoping she'd understand what he meant.

She closed the small distance between them and pulled him close, her mind touching his and calming him, somehow, and he wondered fitfully if she was empathically suffering for him even then. "Robin, it's okay, it's okay—I won't do it anymore if that's what you want."

He nodded against her shoulder. "Yeah, please, you have to stop," he whispered after a long moment. "I can't live with myself knowing that my weakness is hurting you."

Raven released him, seeming satisfied that he wasn't going to dissolve into another breakdown. "You," she said firmly, "are one of the strongest, most amazing people I have ever met. But that's not the issue here." She paused, seeming to weigh her options. "Okay. I'll make you a deal."

"I wasn't aware that there was a deal involved…"

"Stop talking, please. I'll stop helping you with your dreams if you'll make me a promise." She waited for a response, didn't get one, and sighed, continuing. "You have to _talk to me,_ Robin. I know you've forbidden me to tell anyone—and I'm not going to. But I'm also not going to let you bottle this up. If something's bothering you, I want you to tell me. If something's bothering you at three in the morning, I want you to come _wake me up,_ do you understand me? Answer me, Robin."

"So basically, if I share my every waking thought with you, you'll leave the thoughts I have while I'm not awake in my head where they belong?"

She nodded.

Robin bit his lip, avoiding her eyes. "I…guess that's fair."

She exhaled forcefully and with more than a little relief. "Good. And don't even think about trying to fool an empath into thinking that something isn't bothering you when it is, okay? That's how I found you tonight, you know—I would have picked up on what you were feeling from five miles away."

"You're not _that_ powerful," Robin snorted.

Raven raised a delicate eyebrow. "Alright: _now _I believe that you're feeling better." Turning her head to look at his desk, she pointed at the Statistics textbook with some combination of incredulity and distaste. "…what _is_ that?" She asked the question as if it was something foul she'd discovered on the bottom of her shoe.

"Factorial ANOVA." Robin shrugged, voice wavering slightly, small and hesitant and nothing like him, but at least he could get the words out without choking on them.

"Excuse me?"

"Analysis of variance," he offered, the phrase slightly steadier.

"Sounds vile," said Raven. It was the most cheerful thing she'd said in quite awhile. "Explain it to me?"

Robin glanced at her for a brief moment, trying to piece together why Raven would ever want to know how to calculate a factorial ANOVA, but then she'd placed the textbook in his hands and was asking what the F-Max table was for—and after that, it didn't matter why she'd wanted to know, because he had to focus on explaining.


	10. Antecedent

**Bright Line**

**Chapter Ten: Antecedent

* * *

**

"He killed me! That's _not_ fair!"

"...If he had really killed you, you would be a lot quieter."

"Shut up, Rae, I had it under control and he distracted me and it's all his fault. _Robin!_ Tell Cy that doesn't count!"

Robin looked up briefly from the research spread across his lap, not really taking in whatever image was on the television. "That doesn't count, Cyborg."

"You can't take sides; you didn't even see it happen!" Cyborg pointed his controller at him indignantly. Rainy afternoons often disintegrated into trench warfare at the Tower. Inevitably, someone wanted to play the Gamestation, and then they would fight about whether or not they should play, and which game they should play, and who would be which character…

He shrugged, realizing that Cyborg was right. "Sorry, Beast Boy: I didn't see it. You'll just have to have a rematch." Robin hadn't even known what they were talking about when he answered, anyway. He'd been making more than a few hasty, poor decisions lately and often worried that his lack of concentration would carry over to fights. Luckily, there hadn't yet been any reason to test that theory; things had been quiet.

After nearly two weeks, Raven still hadn't mentioned the disk. She'd just become more and more withdrawn around the others, staying in her room whenever possible. Robin was, for all intents and purposes, the only person she spoke to without insults, and it had become incredibly easy to set off her powers. She'd bent Cyborg's fork in half last night at dinner because Starfire was "laughing too loudly." Robin was worried about her and felt more than a little guilty, because he knew why she was having issues. Often, he'd wondered if politely asking her about it would count as "rushing her decision." It was obviously destroying her from the inside out and he couldn't let it continue. But he also couldn't risk making her angry enough to destroy the disk.

Cyborg and Beast Boy finally settled on some kind of compromise that involved restarting the game, to Robin's relief. He did _not _want another explosion. In the first place, it led to possible grudges that he didn't need carrying over into their work, and more importantly Raven would sense it—and that could be disastrous.

He set one heavy folder aside and picked up another. Raven might have taken the disk, but she'd said nothing about him being forbidden to research. If there was any trace of information, anything to indicate who Slade might be targeting… He wondered if the others would say anything if he got up and left. The only reason Robin was out here was because Starfire had pleaded and Cyborg had given him an odd look, saying something about how much he'd changed in the past few weeks. Maybe he'd been out here long enough to satisfy them. It was just easier to think in his workroom. Fewer distractions.

A tiny hand got in the way of his highlighter and he'd drawn a yellow stripe across it before he realized. Terra squeaked out an apology and jerked her hand away—why was _she_ apologizing? He looked up at her in confusion; her eyes were trying to disguise some unknown emotion but failing to hide the fact that she was hiding something.

"No, _I'm_ sorry; I wasn't paying attention—didn't mean to highlight you," he reassured her, wondering how many times he was going to have to use his miniscule attention span as an excuse for poor behavior.

Terra giggled nervously. "It's not a big deal." She stared at her hand as if hoping it would tell her what to say next, the streak of highlighter thick and visible on her skin. Robin waited for her to say something, and it took six seconds for her to break the silence. Eyes darting from one side of the room to the other, Terra shuddered and leaned close to Robin, balancing her hands on the arm of the couch, pale hair falling into her face.

"I need to talk to you," she whispered, voice dry, almost cracked. Panicked.

Robin set the folder aside. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Terra said quickly. Too quickly. She glanced over at the television screen again, where the others were fully absorbed in the game (or mocking the game, in Raven's case), then turned back to Robin and the fear in her eyes wasn't disguised anymore. That's what it had been. Fear. Terra swallowed and leaned even closer, and Robin felt his lungs catch when she got _too _close. "Yes." He could feel her breath on his cheek and the word was so quiet he was sure no one else had heard. He was also sure that she didn't _want _anyone else to hear.

Nodding, Robin moved away from Terra under the guise of turning to look straight at her. For some reason, he could almost tolerate it when Raven touched him—it helped that she hardly ever did it and never without warning—but this was certainly not generalized to the rest of the team. "Do you want to…."

"Hallway. Please." Terra rose with the words, already walking towards the door.

Robin watched her leave the room and waited several minutes to follow, ignoring the occasional appearance of a questioning blonde head in the doorway. Terra obviously didn't want anyone to know about this conversation and it would raise suspicion if they left together. The waiting was good, because it kept the sick panic down to a manageable level. Robin hadn't seen Terra this desperate or serious since she'd asked him about Slade while he had the flu, and he'd never heard that low, hurried tone that almost sounded more like a rush of wind than someone speaking. Whatever she wanted to discuss, it wasn't how much she loved Starfire's cooking.

After he was reasonably certain that no one would connect Terra's exit with his, Robin said something about research and left the room, folders in hand.

Terra was waiting for him, leaning against the wall, hands around her knees, staring. The unsettling thing was that she wasn't really staring at anything. Neck pressed into the wall, she was solemn and silent and just _existing_. It reminded him of something. Robin couldn't think of what, though.

Her head snapped around when he stepped into her line of vision, and she smiled weakly up at him but didn't stand. Robin wasn't used to looking down at people to talk to them.

"Terra, are you alright?" Asking took effort because more than half of him didn't want to know what the answer was, because oh god if this was worse than asking why Slade was bad, then it had to be apocalyptic. _What have I done, what have I done, what have I done—_

"I have some questions about…doing it."

Robin stared at her, immobile, completely confused. Finally, he recovered enough to ask for a clarification. "Excuse me?"

"Well, _you know_…" Terra focused on the toes of her shoes. "Does it…hurt?"

"Does what hurt?" He wondered absently if she was talking about something to do with fighting. Terra hadn't really been seriously injured yet and Robin wasn't exactly eager to explain to her exactly what could happen in a battle, but she'd gotten this far not knowing…it had probably been on her mind since the fight at the hospital, and maybe it was time someone told her—

"You know." Terra twisted around to look straight at him, one leg folded under her and palms rested on the floor. Her lips turned up slightly as if she were trying to repress a giggle, and then snapped back into seriousness. "_It._ Having…having sex. Does it hurt when you have sex, you know, with a guy?"

It took him a moment to believe that she had really asked it, that those words had really come out of sweet, little Terra's mouth, that she was actually sitting there, staring up at him with honest confusion and a little fear but mostly utter faith that he would have an answer. Of course Robin would have an answer. Robin knew all about sex. Because he was a slut. Because he had let it happen. Because he had—

"Well, does it?"

_No, Terra. No, Terra, it didn't hurt. Because I'm a disgusting, twisted person who _likes_ having sex with my enemy, are you happy now? It should hurt. It should hurt because it's wrong and evil and it should hurt but it _doesn't _because I'm sick. _He tried to think of something to say other than the damning words in his head. "Terra, you are _way_ too young to be worrying about this."

She laughed, but it was saturated with some emotion that shouldn't be in a laugh, something foreboding and overwhelmed. "Maybe."

Jaw clenching, he suddenly determined why she was asking this, and he didn't like the answer. "Has Beast Boy been pressuring you?"

"Oh no, no! He totally hasn't! I just…wondered." Terra curled her legs up to her chest again.

"You're too young to wonder!" He couldn't let them do anything stupid. He just couldn't. They were _kids: _innocent and clean and they had no idea what they were getting into. It wouldn't be as bad for them, of course—this shame was his and was something they'd never have to deal with, thankfully, but they still didn't understand.

Terra shook her head imploringly, eyes wide. "Be quiet," she hissed. "Please, please don't say that where they can hear…and I'm like a year younger than you, y'know." Terra twisted her hair. "But, Robin, does it?" It was no more than a whisper.

As if his age had anything to do with it. He was filthy. And anyway, he didn't think he'd be old enough to want to think about it again if he lived to be a thousand. Robin tried to keep his breath steady, didn't think he was doing a very good job, and focused on how Terra's face was getting fuller. Her cheekbones didn't protrude dangerously anymore and he'd stopped worrying that she'd have to be hospitalized for malnutrition. Feeling like he had enough control to speak, he lowered himself to the floor so he didn't have to keep looking down at Terra (it was an unfamiliar angle). "Why does it _matter_ if it hurts if you aren't planning to do it any time soon?" His next question almost didn't get asked because he was afraid of what she might say, but in the end he decided that he had to know. "Why are you even asking me? This seems more like a Raven or Starfire question."

Terra tucked her hair behind her left ear. "Oh, no reason…I just…umm…thought that maybe _you_ would know, or whatever."

He felt his heart stop beating. Did Terra know? She couldn't, it wasn't possible. Terra couldn't even show up for training on time without six dozen reminders. But…if even _Terra _knew… Was it really that obvious—could you tell by looking? If you could tell and if Terra knew, then…oh god, Bruce _must _know, when he called and got mad, and… Robin bit the inside of his cheek, shoving the thoughts away and telling himself that he could control this, could make himself bleed whenever he wanted, and after several, shallow breaths he was able to answer.

"Look, I'm going to have a talk with Beast Boy."

"Robin!"

"Terra, you don't have to defend him. I know the only reason you could have possibly gotten this idea in your head was because he put it there, and that's unacceptable. I'm not going to let him pressure you into doing something that you'll _both _regret."

She blinked. "Why would we regret it, though? It's that bad?"

"That's not the point!" Robin sighed. He should have realized this might happen—with Terra being so romantic and watching too many movies with Starfire, of course she'd have some ridiculous notions about the way things were supposed to work. And anything Beast Boy said on the subject would only exacerbate the problem. "Terra, it's fine. Don't worry. I'll take care of it."

"But…"

He considered. "Is there something else besides Beast Boy?" Maybe she'd read something that had disturbed her, or watched the wrong news broadcast.

A sharp intake of breath, and Terra was on her feet, moving more quickly than Robin had thought she was capable of. "No, there's nothing else. I think you've answered all my questions now, thanks, Robin!" She giggled emptily and spun, walking backwards towards the living room, waving.

"Terra, are you sure that—"

"Thanks for your help!" The words were louder than the rest of their conversation had been and Robin knew that the others had heard, and she disappeared through the doorway before he could make her come back and tell him whatever it was she was hiding. Because she was hiding something. And it had to do with sex. Robin didn't know if it involved Beast Boy or not, but he was taking no chances on that matter—he'd have to have a talk with him.

Not now, though. Later. Because now, he felt sick and he just couldn't face Beast Boy, not if he was going to be authoritative like he _had _to be. Robin thought that this might count as something he was supposed to talk to Raven about, but… Well, she knew, anyway. She'd seen on the video. Telling her though—he didn't know if he could. If he should. If it would just finally change her mind and get her to see how disgusting he really was.

He finally decided that he just needed to be alone for awhile, and then maybe he could figure out if Raven had been serious when she made that deal with him, and if this was really something she actually wanted to know about. Robin took his research and headed back to his workroom.

* * *

It was Raven's room, _not _the Pentagon. 

Since the beginning, without it ever having been actually said, it was common knowledge that those who went into Raven's room didn't come out with all their limbs. Robin knew everything about the Tower, and he definitely knew that there was nothing unusual about the floor plan of her quarters, nothing otherworldly or extravagant about it. If he really felt like it, he had override codes that could get the door open—not that he'd do it, but he could. And yet…somehow, he really didn't want to knock on her door and his brain wasn't listening when he catalogued all the reasons why he was being irrational. It was Raven's room. You _didn't_ go into Raven's room.

_Am I five years old? Is there a monster in my closet, too?_

But he knocked on her door because he had to, because what he wanted had stopped mattering three months ago, if it had ever mattered. She'd told him he had to talk to her, and if she destroyed the disk because he didn't keep his word, Robin would have no excuse. They had to talk about Terra, about her strange question and what that might mean, because there was something there and he needed to figure out what it was. But that wasn't even really why he was knocking, he realized suddenly. It was…he couldn't classify it. Robin didn't want to talk to Raven and yet he did, he was supposed to tell her that he was afraid for Terra, except that wasn't at all what he wanted to tell her, and…it was…

It was complicated. That was the best answer he could supply, anyway, and he had no room to think about it anymore when Raven answered the door.

"Hey." Her face was barely visible through the small opening. Raven had mastered the art of getting an automatic door to open only four inches.

"Is this a bad time?"

"Do you need to talk?" she asked, voice controlled.

He hesitated, then finally nodded. "It's not anything important, really—and it's not that I _need _to talk, just that…"

"It's not a bad time," said Raven, stepping back and letting the door slide open fully. Telekinesis, he figured. He was starting to recognize the small changes in Raven's expression that meant some measure of her attention was occupied by her powers—and which ones she was using.

Robin told himself for the hundredth time that he had to do this, and followed Raven into her room, door closing mechanically behind him. Somehow, it seemed wrong that nothing exploded when he crossed the threshold. Her room was messier than he would have liked, but there wasn't really anything otherworldly about it; she had books everywhere, old and weathered with papers stuffed between the pages. The overhead light was off, as he'd expected, though Raven turned on a purple lamp by her bed before sliding easily into a chair, watching him, waiting.

This was another of the mass of contradictions that overshadowed her presence, made her more than what she was, that her room was forbidden and yet still just a room. He felt the idea wrap around him as he entered, not sure whether seeing it at last made him able to see her more clearly or simply skewed his idea of her further.

He finally accepted that Raven wasn't going to say anything else, so Robin squashed an irrational urge to find out what was in some of her more unique books and made himself focus on the issue at hand. "Terra asked me something today that…just wasn't right, somehow."

"In what way?"

He shook his head. "I don't really want to say what it was, but I'm worried about her. Something's not right, it's just not." The more he thought about it, the more he wondered where the nausea and nameless fears were coming from, something that had been festering in the back of his mind ever since Terra had first joined, actually, and he just hadn't been able to put a label on the problem. Now, he still couldn't put a label on it, but it had gotten to the point where the fact that there was a problem was unmistakable—and that it was probably something big, too big to handle on his own. Robin had learned his lesson about handling things like this on his own.

Raven closed her eyes and seemed to be concentrating on something, but finally looked at him again, eyes alert and serious. "Is this on the order of what we talked about last month, after the fight with Cinderblock?"

_Depends on whether or not you think that sex has anything to do with Terra plotting our gruesome deaths. _"I'm not sure—I don't think so, but nothing makes any sense anymore, so I wouldn't rule it out." And if it _did _have something to do with the odd sense of "something's wrong" he'd been picking up ever since Terra had joined, well, Robin wasn't sure if he could handle that. The idea that she might be hiding something from all of them related to her worries about men and sex…he was afraid to think about it. Flat-out afraid. It was an undeniable truth that there was no use hiding.

"If you're not ruling it out, I think I need to know what it is," said Raven. She shook her head when he opened his mouth to protest. "And yes, I know that you aren't in the business of breaking confidence among team members, and neither am I, but this is getting out of hand, Robin, and if something happened I'd never forgive myself if I'd had the ability to stop it." She paused, staring at him as if she dared him to challenge that, then seemed to make a decision. "I'll tell you if you'll tell me."

"Tell me what?"

"Remember, after the Cinderblock fight, when I told you that I'd been picking up some emotions from her that didn't belong? Remember when I said I was going to leave it alone because I wasn't sure? I'm still not sure, but I _am _sure that it's not going away and it's not getting better. She feels guilty, Robin. Conflicted. Remorseful and confused and ashamed, at completely inappropriate times, and lately she's been giving me just as many headaches as you have."

"I'm sor—"

"Don't, Robin. I need to know what Terra asked you. And I also…" She readjusted her cloak with uncharacteristic nervousness. "I need to know why it bothered _you._ Because I think there's something bigger going on here than Terra," Raven said gently.

"No, it's Terra; I'm just worried about Terra."

Raven tapped her forehead. "This says otherwise."

He felt cold. It was what he had come here to say, when he was honest with himself, but he couldn't decide if the need to have Raven say it was okay outweighed the risk of her never speaking to him again. "You're too good at that empathy, you know," he muttered, voice dry.

"And _you _promised you'd talk to me," she accused.

She was right, and Robin couldn't go back on his word, so even if Raven was going to hate him forever, he had to say it. "Yeah. I did. Okay. Terra asked me if…" Robin focused on a candle on Raven's desk, unable to look her in the face. "She seemed very concerned with whether or not sex was painful, and she was so sure I would know that—" He felt himself becoming quieter with every word. "If even _Terra_ knows, then _everyone_ must know, and besides, I couldn't even answer her because…because…"

"Because it _didn't_ hurt you?"

Robin stopped speaking, just stared at her, unable to move or act or breathe.

"Thought that might be the problem," said Raven. "We were going to have to have this conversation sooner or later."

"We are _not _having this conversation."

"And yet, we are." But the bite that usually would have been in the words was missing, and she shifted as if considering standing up, then decided against it. "Look, I…" It was one of the first times Robin could remember seeing Raven uncomfortable. She swallowed, looking down at the floor. "You don't have to explain. I know, remember?"

He blinked, took a step away from her, fully prepared to leave her room and never talk to her again because he knew that had to be what she wanted from him. "I'm so sorry, Raven—"

"No!" Her head snapped up at that, and she had to take a shaky breath before continuing desperately. "It's okay; I didn't mean it that way, just _listen _to me for five seconds, please!"

"Listening," he said, trying to keep the panic at a manageable level.

"Look, I know what you think. You're just about to choke me with what you think, actually." She bit her lip. "But, Robin, you have to understand. It was rape. It doesn't matter if your body enjoyed it, it was still _rape_—it's not your fault."

"Yes it was." Of course it was his fault, Slade was the enemy, and moreover Robin was disgusting because no one with an ounce of good in them would ever—

"No—no, it _wasn't,_ and we can fight back and forth about this all night but it still won't be your fault. Bodies can be forced to feel things, Robin. I can't believe I even have to tell you this. Him making you—making your body enjoy it, that doesn't mean it wasn't rape—in some ways it makes it worse! And no, you're not disgusting; there is _nothing _about you that could _ever_ be disgusting, okay?"

"I didn't say that out loud," he protested, trying to ignore the way Raven picked nervously at her cloak, twisting it in her hands. She looked so…unnatural. And maybe in some alternate universe where Raven actually got nervous and upset and had no idea what to do, maybe then what she was saying would be true and it really wouldn't be his fault. But this wasn't an alternate universe.

"You're _not _listening!"

"You're _lying!_ I don't know why you want to even try to convince me that that's how you really feel, but it's not going to work."

Raven didn't respond for at least three seconds, cloak slipping through her fingers, forgotten. Finally, she narrowed her eyes and stood, crossing her arms over her chest as she spoke. "I'm lying? I really do think you're the foulest creature in existence and you shouldn't be alive? Fine. Okay." She stepped closer to him and Robin flinched but was able to stop himself from jerking away. "You want to know how I really feel? _This _is how I feel."

"What are you—"

"Don't," she said dismissively, taking his hands. "Try to relax, alright? I'm not going to hurt you."

Robin spent exactly two seconds wondering what hallucinogen Raven had been poisoned with. Then, without warning, his thoughts weren't his own anymore. In most situations, Robin always knew precisely how to categorize exactly what something was like, but this…this was so outside his normal realm of experience that he almost couldn't— Someone was…not so much thinking for him as _feeling,_ like a sudden realization that you were the passenger in your own car and you didn't know the driver. No, no that wasn't right. It wasn't his mind. These weren't his emotions. They…it…

Raven's.

Except it wasn't, not really, because there was no way Raven could feel this way—he only had to experience the strange meld of lies for a brief moment to understand that. It was…it was just too…positive. Fear and uncertainty and oh-god-am-I-doing-the-wrong-thing, yes, but mostly unconditional respect and a fair measure of awe, coated with some kind of inadequate gratitude, debt that could never be repaid and how-can-someone-like-him-even-exist-isn't-he-_ever_-selfish-I-can't-even-fathom… _No._ No one should ever feel that way about him, no one ever could, it had to be a lie, had to. He pulled his hands away, and though he suspected that that didn't have much effect on whatever illusion Raven was projecting, she stopped of her own accord, some unreadable expression on her face.

"Are you alright?"

"Just stop lying to me, will you! I already know I'm worthless; you don't need to keep proving it to me over and over." Of course, if Raven felt like proving it to him ad nauseam, he had absolutely no right to tell her she couldn't, but…it just hurt so much to have to _feel _that, when he knew it couldn't be true.

For a moment, Raven looked completely shocked, not responding, almost as shocked as she'd been on the night he'd first told her about Slade. Then, she recovered and her eyes flashed with anger that was almost tangible. "That's what you think? Is that what you really think?" He took an instinctive step back, knowing full well what happened when Raven was angry. "You really just want to be miserable, don't you? I share with you in the deepest way I know how and you say it's a sham? Then enjoy your anguish, because there's nothing else I can do to convince you, and I don't _care!" _

She shouted the last word. Actual, raising-of-the-voice shouting. And Raven never did that. Ever. Behind her, her bookcase rattled dangerously, sending a glass statue of a dolphin (why did Raven have a dolphin statue?) crashing to the floor, shattering. Breathing fast, she clenched her hands into fists and Robin recognized the familiar look that meant she was fighting a mental overflow.

A fight that she couldn't fake.

Robin found himself wishing for Raven's powers, at least the teleportation, because phasing through the floor currently sounded like a wonderful plan. He'd been wrong, he'd been so wrong, it was real—it didn't matter how impossible it was, because it was real, and the guilt was almost unbearable but he couldn't think about that right now, he had to help Raven. "Oh god I'm sorry, Raven, please, I didn't mean it, just—" The clock on Raven's desk levitated into the air, spinning maliciously, along with a few of her heavier books. Robin wondered if she was about to hurl them at him. "I believe you, Raven, I swear, please just don't hurt yourself!"

"No, that's not—I know," she muttered clumsily, holding her forehead, eyes squeezed shut. "I _know_ that, but calm down and stop yelling or my door's going to have a new hole."

It took him a moment to realize that his emotions were the problem, and once he did he had to bite down a wave of new panic, because how could he stop _feeling?_ Robin gritted his teeth and forced himself not to think about the shaking bookcase and the clock and Raven's pained expression. _Stop it. You convinced her. She doesn't hate you. _He listened to himself breathe in and out, and when that didn't work made himself think about statistics. _The estimated standard error is equal to the square root of the sample variance squared over N…_

"Hey—I'm okay now."

Relief washed over him. "I'm so sorry, Raven."

She began levitating the shards of broken glass into the trash can, offering a grim smile. "What you said was thoughtless and idiotic, but I lost control. I think we're about even."

"Well, I'm sorry, anyway. Let me help with the bookcase…"

"Okay."

They worked in silence for a few minutes, Robin stacking books neatly back on the shelves and hoping there wasn't some specific order to them that he wasn't aware of, trying to make sense of what Raven had shown him, what was _true,_ irrationally, impossibly. And he found that once he accepted the validity of her emotions, he wanted them to be true, so much that it terrified him, because really seeing that firsthand had been so…seeing that someone else, that Raven thought he was okay—better than okay, even… God, he never wanted that to go away.

"So you did mean it, didn't you?"

Raven set the black clock upright and began resetting the correct time. "I'm not even going to respond to that."

As soon as she'd answered, he realized how right she was, how ridiculous the question had been—because it was true and there could be no question of whether or not she had meant it. It was…you couldn't doubt the full sincerity of _that_, and if you could, it would be absolutely nonsensical to believe that words would explain what Raven's powers couldn't. "Point taken. What exactly was that, if you don't mind saying?"

"It's the other side of empathy. I don't use it often, obviously, because I'm not exactly a fan of showcasing my innermost emotions for everyone to see," Raven said. "I can project what I'm feeling just like I can sense what others are feeling. They see my emotions and nothing more; I can't fabricate them. You can understand why I was just a bit annoyed when you dismissed it."

"I know, and I'm really sorry…"

"It's fine—well, it wasn't fine, but I forgive you." She finished with the clock and turned to face him, eyes tired. "I believe that you're incredible, Robin. One day you'll believe it yourself."

And when she said it, when he thought about what her mind had felt like, he wanted to believe it, for the first time that he could recall…and almost thought that maybe it would be okay if he _did._ "I…umm…thank you."

"Any time, provided that you don't insult me," said Raven. Resting one hand on her desk, she returned to the original topic, almost as if it had never been interrupted. "I don't think Terra knows, Robin. I really don't. I think she's obsessed with Beast Boy and it's been on her mind, and she thinks you know everything because you're the leader, so she asked you."

"But why would _I_ know _that?"_

Raven shrugged. "It's Terra. Who knows. Chalk it up to one more thing in her head that makes no sense."

Her meaningful look made him feel cold, though it was almost welcomed because at least he could worry about a problem that had nothing to do with himself. It was…almost like he could finally see something else besides the hatred and the shame and all the things he should be feeling, because someone else didn't think he had to feel them, really believed it, said he was okay. "What do you think we should do?" The words sounded more like himself than anything he'd said in months.

"Be alert, let me see if I can get a better picture of what's going on with her, and don't let her do anything stupid," said Raven.

"…You don't think she _would,_ do you?"

"Would what?"

Fair question. Robin didn't really know what he meant, exactly. Something hung just out of reach, a piece of information that would fit everything together if he could just grasp it and figure out what to do with it, and he knew it was there but no amount of analysis would force it out of hiding. "I'm not sure. Don't think she would…_anything,_ I guess. Anything stupid."

"I really, sincerely hope that we won't have to worry about that."

Robin did, too. He was just reasonably sure that they _would.

* * *

_

**Note to the esteemed readers:** **Please bear with me in the coming weeks, as I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to keep the weekly pace of updating due to real life getting in my way. Also, the next two updates will be Cognitive Dissonance only, due to differences in the timeline (CD9 and CD10 take place before BL11). CD11 and BL11 will be out at the same time. Finally, I'd like to note that I've been getting some really great, anonymous reviews that I'd love to respond to, but I can't do that if you don't provide an email address. I don't want y'all to think I'm ignoring you, so if you leave an anonymous review and you want a response, _please leave an email address!_ Thank you very much for all your support so far! If you have any questions, feel free to ask. I love hearing from you all.**


	11. Consequent

**Bright Line**

**Chapter Eleven: Consequent

* * *

**

_Richard: _

_I hope you're feeling better. If something happened that you need to talk about, you can call me. You need to learn to be more responsible, but it wasn't my intention to upset you. I'm sorry you were sick._

_Happy birthday. You should visit; Alfred misses you. _

He didn't sign it, but he didn't need to. Robin knew. Just like he knew that while Bruce wasn't apologizing for him getting the flu (it drove Robin crazy when people responded to "I'm sorry" with "It wasn't your fault" when it was obviously being used to denote sympathy rather than apology), he was, on some level, apologizing for upsetting him. If he'd figured out how to interpret the man years ago, maybe they wouldn't have had so many problems.

This whole day was stupid; a useless waste of time, but the others wouldn't listen when he told them that there were more important things than his birthday. He'd slipped into his room to check his email before the "party," and was glad that he did. Even though it was slightly irrational because Bruce had no reason to apologize; if the results of their last ill-fated conversation were anybody's fault, it was Robin's. For the life of him, he still couldn't figure out what had made him break down like that. Raven had said that sometimes it didn't take much to send you over the edge when you had a lot of other things to deal with, but that didn't make any sense. Robin never cried.

He read the email twice, trying to figure out how much of it he should ignore. Bruce was obviously worried about him: he was only going to tolerate avoidance for so much longer and Robin did _not _want _Batman_ to show up in California demanding to know what the problem was. The last line of the email kept catching his attention. He hadn't been home since September. It was almost like going away to college, except three years too early, and most people didn't preface college with yelling a lot of things they didn't mean. Robin could remember being on the plane for exactly twenty-three minutes when he realized exactly how much he didn't mean it, but of course by then it was too late.

He couldn't go home. It wasn't home to him anymore.

A sharp knocking on his door. More like hammering, really. "Oh, Fearless Leeeader? What kind of pizza do you want, are you _sure _we can't give you presents, and do you care if me and Terra are a little late tonight?"

Sighing, Robin closed the email, wondering why it was hard to be quite as annoyed with Beast Boy as he would have normally been. "Whatever everybody else wants, no you absolutely cannot get me presents and you guys can skip the whole thing if you want." He let the door slide open.

"One of these days, I'm going to prove that you're actually a robot cleverly disguised to look like a fifteen—whoops, sixteen—year old guy." Beast Boy poked him, as if expecting Robin to explode. Strangely, the touch didn't bother him. "Anyway, thanks. It's just that Terra asked me to go out with her, and she's hardly ever the one to ask to do something, and you didn't seem to mind so I thought…"

"Beast Boy, it's fine, really," he said, forcing a laugh. "I just want to get this over with."

"Yeah, we know: you hate people making a fuss over you. In other words, you're certifiably nuts." He started walking casually down the hall, and Robin followed, reasoning that he'd get dragged out of his room sooner or later, so he might as well skip the protesting.

"Sorry; I don't think it's contagious." Robin _didn't _like it, of course. There was a difference between earning people's respect as a leader and having them fawn all over you because it happened to be your birthday. In a way, it was almost like a loss of respect, and he was really starting to wish that he hadn't told them, on the first night that they'd gone out for pizza together when they were all sharing birthdays and favorite colors and whatever else Beast Boy could think of to ask everyone.

And besides, something about…well, it was the first time he'd had a birthday away from home, and it made him feel like he was doing something wrong, for some reason. Like how he'd felt at Christmas (which had been ridiculous because Bruce wasn't even religious and probably didn't care at all). It was almost guilt but not really.

"So…we're gonna take off, if that's okay, but we'll be back real early, alright?"

He nodded. "Sure; it's fine."

At that point, they reached the living room, and Raven's sharp voice indicated that she knew exactly what Beast Boy had been asking him, and that she wasn't happy. "I really don't see how it's fine. You think you can just leave as if this isn't important at—"

"It's _not _important," Robin interrupted curtly.

Raven rolled her eyes but smiled at him. "We know, Robin."

Covering the phone with his hand, Cyborg broke the silence to ask if they'd figured out what kind of pizza they wanted. As far as Robin was concerned, he could close his eyes and point to something on the list of toppings if he wanted to.

After demanding vegan pizza and enduring an incredulous look from Cyborg ("Why do you care if you're not even _eating _it?"), Beast Boy turned to Terra, who was leaning against the counter with an odd expression on her face, in clothing that was substantially less casual than usual. "You ready, babe?"

"Yeah!" She turned to Robin with a grin—a grin that looked…manufactured, somehow. "Thanks a ton, Robin, I knew you'd understand! We'll be back later, guys."

"I can't _believe _you're doing this," Raven muttered. She looked from Beast Boy to Terra, seeming to consider something. "Well, actually, I can."

Honestly, Robin was relieved when they finally left, because he'd take any excuse to have this day noticed just a little less. And besides, it would be just like Beast Boy to set up some kind of prank, and at least this way he was otherwise occupied.

Once the more hyperactive members of the team were gone, he realized why Starfire had been so quiet since he'd entered the living room. She was standing over the sink, studying something as if it might be the cure for cancer. And then, she shifted her weight and Robin saw what the something _was._ It was a wriggling, green mass of some translucent substance, and he could have sworn there were gray lumps in the middle that looked suspiciously like live animals…then he looked away and decided that he needed to forget that the most recent five seconds of his life had happened.

"Umm…Star? What's…that?"

A happy giggle forced him to turn back to her, though he kept his eyes on her face and not on whatever monstrosity she was holding. "Since such occasions as the anniversary of one's birth are celebrated here, I thought it would be appropriate to make some homemade glorg for you!"

"…Glorg?"

"The stuff she made for Terra when she first came to live with us, remember?" whispered Cyborg, who'd since finished ordering the pizza (Robin was starting to be very, very glad that Cyborg had ordered pizza).

He did remember. Sushi mixed with ice cream, she'd said. Robin didn't really trust a girl who'd spent her entire life starving when it came to the suitability of Tamaranian cuisine.

"Robin, might you wish to sample my cooking?"

He wondered if there was any possible way out of this one.

* * *

He'd had to eat the glorg. It was exactly as horrifying as he'd expected it would be. Robin had thanked Starfire, said it was delicious, and tried not to think about the fact that the gray things had seemed to be alive. 

At the kitchen table, Raven was talking with Cyborg about an article she'd read yesterday, with Cyborg twirling a pizza crust along the edge of his plate. He was just enjoying the quiet, and hardly noticed when Starfire slipped around the couch to sit next to him.

"Has the anniversary of your birth been pleasant, friend?" There was something in her voice that wasn't normally there, and when Robin looked at her he could have sworn that he saw something…_more _than the bubble of happiness and unconquerable smile. Something confused and vulnerable and wondering.

He nodded. "Yeah, thanks again for the glorg—it was really…great." Reminding himself of countless nights of going without food and sleep, he managed to suppress the shudder.

She hesitated, then reached out to touch his shoulder briefly. "Is everything alright? You have not been yourself lately, and I have been concerned." She was halfway into the sentence before Robin realized that he hadn't flinched at the contact, and remembered that a few weeks ago, he would have.

It took him a moment to formulate an acceptable response, and he glanced briefly over at Raven, who'd obviously heard the question and smiled at him, almost imperceptibly. Then, he realized that Raven knew the answer, knew it before Robin even wrapped his brain around it. "Yeah, things have been tough lately…but I'm alright, now." It was one of the first true statements he'd said to Starfire in months, and she was more than smart enough to tell the difference between truth and lie—her expression proved that.

"That…is good to hear," she said, the relief filtering through her words like a physical entity. She scooted away from him self-consciously, looking in the direction of the kitchen table, quick enough that anyone who didn't have Robin's vision would have missed it. Robin wondered what she could have meant by that. Then, she broke the silence and interrupted the thought. "Might you wish to partake in a movie now that we have eaten?"

"Sure," said Robin. He could pretend they weren't doing it because of him, and besides, just being together with the team like this was…nice.

It took five minutes for the three of them to convince Robin that he had to choose the movie, even though he really didn't care as long as it wasn't one of those _things_ that Terra liked to watch. Finally, he gave in and decided on Star Wars; he'd seen it, but Starfire hadn't, and she seemed quite eager to see how humans portrayed life on other planets.

Then, they couldn't find the remote.

They found three of them—just not the one for the DVD player. As usual. "I swear, if Beast Boy put it in the fridge or something…" Cyborg muttered as he overturned couch cushions. "About time he and Terra came home, too."

"It's fine," said Robin placatingly, smiling as Starfire poked her head under the couch.

The door slid open just as an excited squeak from underneath the couch indicated that Starfire had probably found what they'd been looking for. "I have located the correct remote for use of the DVD player!"

The look on Beast Boy's face indicated quite clearly that he couldn't care less about the correct remote for use of the DVD player. He waited a few moments, with Terra hovering behind him half-hidden, and then spoke, "Guys? Terra has something to tell you."

"About time y'all showed up," Cyborg said cheerfully. "We were about to give up—"

But he shouldn't be cheerful, he shouldn't, because Beast Boy had never looked like this in all the months Robin had known him. He looked like someone had crumbled his world into tiny pieces and stomped on them. And when the next words came out of his mouth, Robin wasn't at all surprised.

"Guys. Seriously. This can't wait."

Robin was up before he'd finished the sentence, because it didn't really matter what the words were: he'd known it was bad. Part of him was almost relieved. He didn't know how to react to situations where immediate planning wasn't absolutely required—and it was hard to get used to just sitting around doing nothing. At least this was something he was good at. Though the magnitude of Beast Boy's look was starting to convince him that he didn't really want to know.

"What happened, Beast Boy?"

"It's alright, you don't have to get up," he replied softly, taking Terra's hand and leading her over to stand in front of them. Robin was too perplexed to even point out that he was _already _up, so the statement had been redundant. "Like I said, Terra has something to tell you. All of you."

Terra gulped, standing there with bloodshot eyes and her shirt smeared with dried tears. "You guys, I…umm…I need to tell you something."

"Yes, we gathered that," said Raven. Behind him, she tapped him on the wrist, motioning for him to sit—somehow, the others had all ended up on the couch, waiting. He did, trying to keep his emotions in check so she wouldn't realize how worried he was, because even if she sensed it from Beast Boy and Terra, Robin didn't want to add to the problem. Sitting next to Raven helped a little, anyway. He couldn't tell if she was using her powers to calm him or if he just felt that way because it was _Raven._

Robin watched Terra twist her hair around her fingers, face pale and splotchy, gulping down a breath of air as if she were a second grader about to give a book report that she hadn't practiced. When she finally spoke, the words started out senseless and only got worse. "Sorry. And umm, first of all, I'm sorry. Really, really sorry. I really do like you guys, and I didn't want to hurt you, or whatever, and I'm sorry."

Cyborg nodded encouragingly, from his seat next to Raven. "It's alright, kiddo; just tell us."

Terra looked straight at the floor at the base of the couch, somewhere between Cyborg and Starfire's shoes. "Well, it's about…Slade."

Robin's heart stopped beating.

_Oh god. Oh god, oh god, that's what it was, that's what it was all along, she's been hiding this the whole time and I didn't see it, I couldn't see past my stupidity and my mistakes and my weakness and it's all my fault, everything—_

He felt Raven's hand in his, firmly, grounding him and pulling him out of the broken record in his head that kept accusing him of failure, of negligence—and Robin almost wished that, just for that moment, Raven could be telepathic so he could just _tell her_ what he was thinking, what it had to be…but she wouldn't allow his emotions to overpower both of them.

And she was right. He had to hear the whole story.

Terra didn't say anything else, so Starfire broke the silence from her position on the arm of the couch. "What about Slade?"

Leaning forward slightly so a curtain of blonde hair dropped over half of her face, Terra made a sound somewhere between a moan and a sob.

"Tell them, Terra," said Beast Boy humorlessly. Coils of ice wound themselves around Robin's stomach.

"I…I lied. Slade was…I did…" She sniffled and swabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. "I've been working for Slade. And I did…stuff with him. Like, really bad stuff. Like, _did _stuff you know?"

No. He didn't want to know. Because if he knew, it meant he'd failed on every level. Failed as a leader, an investigator, a friend—failed at everything. It had to be something else. Please let it be something else...

Beast Boy looked from one occupant of the couch to the other, apologetically. "What she means is—"

Raven jerked her hand away and was on her feet before he finished.

"I know _exactly _what she means," she spat, and Robin was glad that he couldn't see her eyes from this angle because he knew they were red. "That's it. You _did,_ didn't you?"

"Umm…did what?"

"You slept with him," said Raven, and all the panic came rushing back as soon as she got the words out. "You slept with him, didn't you, you dirty whore. And you weren't sorry. You weren't sorry at _all."_

"Was too!"

"Now you're a lying whore."

Terra started to say something, but Raven hit her squarely in the face.

Robin didn't have time to wonder why she hadn't just used her powers, because Raven didn't hit people physically, wasn't a very good conventional fighter and didn't need to be, and why she was hitting her at all and why he wasn't _stopping_ it . He couldn't focus on that right now, was too distracted by the horrible truth, the one that had been _right in front of him_ for months now, because Raven was right about what Slade had done to Terra and it was _all his fault._

Finally, Cyborg hauled her off of Terra, dragging her back and pinning her arms. _"Raven! _You have no right to accuse her of something like that!"

"The hell I do. I knew she'd done something. I _knew it." _She tried to twist out of Cyborg's grip with no success, and when he wouldn't let her go she said something else that made Terra cry even harder than she'd been crying, backing away to hide behind Beast Boy between strangled sobs. Raven had known something, and Robin had known, too, but they hadn't figured it out in time and now all of this was happening and Raven was going to kill Terra if he didn't do something because he could _feel _her powers burning just under the surface with a fire that terrified him—and Cyborg and Terra were talking and Starfire was getting upset but he couldn't focus, and why could he feel Raven's powers, that wasn't normal…

No. That was _not _the point. He _had _to set this right. So Robin pried himself off the couch and got between Raven and Terra, cringing at Raven's red eyes. "Stop it—Raven, stop it _now!"_

Raven immediately stopped struggling, upper arms resting limp in Cyborg's huge hands. She stared at him, the red vanishing into violet, expression returning to something that might be called neutral.

Taking a deep breath, Robin continued. "This isn't Terra's fault; it's mine."

"Robin, what the—"

"It _is_. I'm a horrible leader not to have known this would happen, not to have protected her." He took a step back, trying to address all of them at once, watching as Cyborg cautiously relaxed his grip on Raven. "Guys, I _know_ how Slade manipulates people. That's all this was, and I didn't stop it when I should have." Turning to Terra, he felt a growing lump in his throat at her terrified face. "I'm so sorry. You _didn't _deserve this. It's…it's all my fault."

Terra opened her mouth, closed it, and put her face in her hands.

"Robin, this is most certainly not your fault! In truth…"

Starfire didn't get to finish because Beast Boy cut her off, stepping away from Terra slightly as he spoke. _"_Robin's right. He did the same thing, Raven, the _same damn thing. _He lied to us, he stole stuff for Slade, he even _fought _us. And I don't see you hitting him, huh?"

And it was true. It _was._ Everything Raven said—it all applied to him, it applied to him so much more than to Terra, because Terra hadn't known any better like he did, he'd been arrogant, selfish, horrible…

Raven managed to lurch one of her arms out of Cyborg's grasp, reaching out to grab Beast Boy by the shirt and barely missing, fingernails raking his forearm. "If you _ever _compare Robin's sacrifices to that whore fucking Metal-Face again…"

"And _you _will not speak about Terra in such a manner!" Starfire screamed, taking hold of Raven's wrist and staring forcefully down at her. Green glow met red as the seconds ticked away, and finally Robin was too nauseated to stand there any longer and watch it.

"Guys," he heard himself say, through some kind of hazy film—maybe that was the mask, or maybe it wasn't. "I—I need to leave."

Somebody protested. Robin didn't register who it was.

"We'll handle this as a team when we can all address it rationally." He looked meaningfully around the room, grateful that he seemed to be regaining control of his voice. "Without hitting, screaming, or name-calling."

"You can't just go leader-mode on us now…"

"I just did, Beast Boy." Addressing Terra now, Robin tried desperately to think of anything that might comfort her. He settled on the truth. "Until proven otherwise, this is on my shoulders, and you're still one of us."

"I'm sorry," Terra moaned.

"It's okay. Cyborg, take her to the infirmary and get her face taken care of. I want her contained there and kept away from any computer, though. No offense, Terra. Everyone else, _drop it_ until tomorrow."

"I'm not dropping anything until—"

"Raven. _Tomorrow." _He didn't really know where the words were coming from, but he was immeasurably glad that he had them, at last; that he felt like he knew how to handle this again. Even if handling it meant doing nothing and making everyone else do nothing. Even if he was well aware that this was an act that he couldn't keep up for much longer.

He made sure that Raven had herself under control before motioning for Cyborg to release her, and tried not to think about how it hurt to have her glaring at him like that. How he thought that he could _feel _her anger, almost inside his head—and didn't like it at all.

Cyborg led Terra away, solemnly—Beast Boy only got two steps before they stopped him, leaving him staring down into the kitchen table, bracing himself with his palms. Robin looked from Raven to Starfire, decided that they weren't likely to start killing each other after Raven had just sworn to him that she was in control, and left the room without a word.

* * *

_"Hey, wow, don't get upset over me, you guys. It's just a cold, or something. I just think it would be better if I had an early night instead of going out."_

"_What's really so bad about Slade, Robin? I know we fight him and I know you all say he's bad and stuff, but how do you _know?_ How can you be _sure?_ What's he done that's so horrible?"_

_"You know. _It._ Having…having sex. Does it hurt when you have sex, you know, with a guy?" _

_But there's no shame in the silver medal, now is there?..._

It was all his fault. How could he not have known? How could he not have _seen?_ The nervous looks, Raven's suspicions, the strange conversations that didn't belong, the uncalled for giggling…everything. And Robin, of all people, should have known what hiding something like _that _looked like. He was a failure. And this was inexcusable.

Slade had corrupted Terra, and he'd just stood by and _let _him. Just like he'd let him… Robin shook his head, not allowing himself to be distracted further. He'd spent thirty minutes wallowing in self-pity, and that was thirty minutes too long. Now, he had to focus on attempting to _possibly_ fix what he'd broken, starting with Raven's outburst.

Raven wasn't in her room: he'd knocked on her door and said he needed to talk, and even if she _was _angry at him, she would have answered. So Robin knew that the next place he should look was the place that everyone generally went when they wanted to brood: the roof.

He was right.

She wasn't exactly trying to hide, leaning against the wall a few feet from the doorframe, cloak pulled around her like a shadow. Raven didn't make any sign that she'd noticed his presence, but he knew that she was just waiting for him to say something. If he'd come up here, he had a reason, and she'd be expecting one.

"Attacking a team member is very, very out of line, Raven."

"She's not a team member," Raven muttered slowly.

This was going to be exactly as difficult as he'd expected. "She is until we decide otherwise—together. I don't recall appointing you the sole authority on who stays and who goes."

Raven avoided his face, looking deliberately at the sky. "She _betrayed _us, Robin. She _goes." _

"I distinctly remember saying that we would discuss this tomorrow, and not before then."

"So why are you up here?" The wind blew at her cloak, and she adjusted it to rest more securely around her shoulders.

He sighed, moving to sit a safe distance away from her, in preparation for what promised to be a long argument. "I came here to tell you that physical and verbal attacks are not acceptable ways of handling this situation, and are not the ways I expect you to handle it tomorrow." Really, he didn't like saying this to her. But he had to. He was the leader. Nobody else was going to say it—and if they did, Raven wouldn't listen.

She was silent for a full minute while Robin sat there, waiting for a response. Finally, he got one, though not the one he'd wanted. "You really do think you're the world's whipping boy, don't you?"

"…What?"

Raven shrugged. "What Beast Boy said. About you doing the same thing. You didn't. Terra making this choice is _not _the same as you being blackmailed into it."

"No, I was worse because I knew better and she didn't. And that's _not _what I came up here to talk about. Lashing out and hitting her was—"

"Impulsive and injudicious, yes, I know, and I'm sorry, and I'll go make nice with the wh—with _Terra,_ if that's what you want, and we'll all learn a lesson about friendship. It still wasn't the same thing." She was finally looking at him, voice much calmer than he'd expected it to be.

"You mean you…"

"Contrary to popular belief, Robin, I _do _make mistakes. It didn't help that I was drowning in your emotions at the time."

"…Oh. Well…don't do it again, okay?"

Strike the point about this being exactly as difficult as he'd expected. Though he was strangely glad that it hadn't been, more than he ought to be at simply resolving a disagreement easily. It was…he was starting to realize that part of his relief had something to do with the fact that it was _Raven,_ and that he wanted to be able to tell her things without worrying that she'd stop speaking to him for days. And realizing that he _could._ It was…something about it was just…

A crooked smile interrupted his thoughts. "I'll try. Fearless leader."

It filled him with a kind of warmth that he suspected didn't have much to do with the ungodly hot weather in California.

"…It still wasn't the same thing."

"I never argued that it was. I argued that I was worse," he said.

Raven sighed heavily, turning so she was facing him. "You were blackmailed into stealing, fighting us, and being raped—to keep us alive. Terra gave Slade information about us because she felt like it."

He _had _to make her understand. "Terra didn't know any better! She's never even lived around people before us—she has no clue how to distinguish good from bad. Who knows what he said to her to get her to do what he wanted? Whereas _I _failed to do my job. It was not the same situation: Terra's mistake is _my _problem."

The laugh that followed sounded very odd coming from Raven. "Do you even realize what you're saying? _Her _mistake is _your _problem? Would you say this about anyone but yourself?"

His mouth opened but he couldn't think of a response, so he shut it.

"Alright, you like logic, let's forget about Terra and talk about you." Raven paused as if collecting her thoughts. "What happened to you never happened, okay? And...you kinda like Slade, even though you know he's a bad guy. He's...interesting. He makes things clear. Everything's simple when he's there, and you like simple. So you just do what he says." She looked straight into his eyes, even though maybe she wasn't aware that she was, but Robin wasn't looking away. "And when he tells you to steal, it's not like they can't afford it, so—well, you steal. And when he tells you to tell him secrets about your friends, you find out what he wants and you tell him. And when he asks you to spread your legs, it's easier to spread them than to argue, so you do."

It made him sick, really, even if it was only a hypothetical situation. Because Robin could never be like that, even hypothetically; it was too disgusting to even entertain for an instant, and his hands were starting to shake and he didn't like it. "Okay, okay, no more details necessary, thanks."

Raven nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. "Do you _really _not see the difference between that and what you actually _did _do, Robin? Because if you don't, I think you're right—you _shouldn't _be a leader."

He did see, slowly, and he wished he'd seen where this was leading sooner so he could have stopped it, but now the logic was staring him in the face and he _couldn't _stop it, because if there was one thing Robin didn't do, it was cling to a clearly irrational belief. "I—okay, so it _wasn't _the same thing. I…don't know why I thought it was, but I guess—what Beast Boy said—it—"

Raven touched his wrist briefly. "I know."

Most other people would have put more words on the end of that sentence, or at least asked him to explain his, but Raven didn't and that was…comforting, somehow. Of course, he couldn't let her keep attacking Terra. _"You_ have to see, though, that there were mitigating circumstances. She's not some evil villain who's been plotting to kill us behind our backs this whole time."

Raven snorted. "I don't think Terra's capable of plotting, actually."

_Point._ "Then don't you agree that this had to be at least partly Slade's doing? You already agree that she couldn't have orchestrated this if she tried. She's been isolated all her life, and he's an evil genius. Terra has no idea what I did—"

"What _Slade _did."

"That, too," he sighed. "In any case, she didn't know, and Slade manipulated her—you _know _he did, Raven. Yes, it's bad. But she's not evil. And you're not going to treat her like she is."

"I _said _I wouldn't." She leaned back on her forearms, seeming much more relaxed. Robin hoped that was because she'd already decided to leave Terra alone.

"No, you never actually said you wouldn't," said Robin. "No more hitting, no more yelling, no more calling Terra a whore, or any other epithets you can think of. Okay?"

"You never let me have any fun."

"That's a promise, then?" She wouldn't have joked about it if she didn't consider the matter closed.

Raven nodded reluctantly. "Sure—if you promise to _try _and steer clear of the It's-All-My-Fault Realm."

Well, as long as she was bringing up his failures… "Speaking of things that are my fault, I guess this makes the disk irrelevant."

Shaking her head, Raven sat up straighter and rolled her eyes. "It's your _birthday,_ Robin. Can you maybe not talk about torture tapes?"

"Fine. I'll talk about it in three hours when it's no longer my birthday," he said evenly.

"I'll look forward to it," said Raven.

They both fell into silence after that, and though he didn't exactly know what she was thinking, he could feel her emotions like the warm breeze on his cheek. Not the intense, physical force that he remembered from the conversation in her room; this felt…less deliberate, not so much a conscious act as it was just something that _happened. _Robin didn't try to label them. There were some things that couldn't be labeled, and he realized that he didn't want to. He looked up at the stars and didn't even care that he knew all their names.

* * *

**It's my birthday today! Reviews are the best presents. ;)**


	12. Closure of a System

**Bright Line**

**Chapter Twelve: Closure of a System

* * *

**

Beast Boy sat on the floor with his legs crossed, staring down into his muffin with disinterest. He twirled the plastic, yellow plate in slow circles, biting his lip and avoiding Robin's eyes. They hadn't spoken since last night. In fact, Robin hadn't spoken to anyone since his talk with Raven. It would have been an invitation for unnecessary conflict. He hoped that the others had recognized this and had the sense to avoid each other, especially Starfire and Raven. Starfire was on the couch next to Cyborg, leaning sideways into the cushions, hair wild but untangled. Raven was sitting in one of the bar stools, as far away from Starfire and Beast Boy as humanly possible. No one spoke. There were no words.

None except the ones that Robin had to find, somehow. "Alright," he said slowly, standing. "First of all, this is a discussion, not a fight. I don't want to see it become one—understood?"

They all nodded, some more reluctantly than others.

"We need to decide what we're going to do about Terra—"

"If we're deciding things about her, shouldn't Terra be here?" Beast Boy interrupted.

"I never said we'd decide anything without giving her a chance to speak. But the situation would be better for all of us, including her, if she weren't present right now." He didn't want a repeat of last night, and putting Raven around Terra was asking for trouble.

"I want her out," Raven said stiffly.

"No!" Beast Boy had shoved his plate aside, voice harsh and staccato.

"You're just saying that because—"

_"Guys. Stop."_ They stopped, and Robin wondered how long he'd been neglecting being the leader and doing his job. The words seemed so foreign, things he never thought he'd say again. He stared at them for a moment, waiting for silence, before continuing. "We need to review the facts. There are so many potential ramifications of what she told us, things that have nothing to do with whether or not some of us want her to stay. Terra said that she gave information to—to Slade." The pause was short enough that it could be taken as emphasis. He hoped. "That could get us all killed. We have to find out _exactly _what she told him. Beast Boy, did she say anything else to you last night when you two were alone?"

Beast Boy's eyes were back on his plate in an instant as he began ripping tiny pieces off his muffin and flattening them into the yellow plastic. "Umm, well, just that she was really sorry, and that she really does like me…and she made me swear on your lives that I wouldn't leave her in the restaurant."

Behind him, Raven shifted in her seat but didn't say anything, though Robin knew all too well how angry she was. He asked the question before Raven could ask it in an offensive way. "Why did she do that?"

Beast Boy shrugged. "She seemed really afraid of being left alone, and she started talking about something Slade would do if I did, and—oh my god—that's when she brought up…_y'know_—the point is that he must have been threatening her. With that. You know."

"I don't doubt it," Robin agreed. "It seems like the only logical reason Slade would do that to her: using it as a mechanism for control." Of course, he had reasons other than logic to understand what Slade did, but Beast Boy didn't need to know that.

"So you've gotta see, though, that this couldn't have possibly been all her fault! I mean, I guess I didn't see it at the time 'cos I was shocked, but…for her to phrase it the way she did, Slade must have, like, _raped_ her." He shuddered visibly, pushing his plate away. "Oh god. Oh my _god."_

Starfire clutched at the edge of the couch, eyes watery. "But…_why?_ What indecent person would possibly do such a thing?"

"Slade," said Cyborg grimly. "By the way, I took some blood samples last night; I don't think there's anything, but if she's going to be staying here and fighting, we should be aware—"

"AIDS. I'd never thought about—and she could—" Beast Boy couldn't continue, closing his eyes and shaking, and Cyborg crawled off the couch to put an arm around his shoulders, quietly explaining why there was probably nothing to worry about, and it was just a precaution…

Robin didn't let himself think about the fact that he himself needed to get tested again in May. Now wasn't the time. Now wasn't about him. "That's another point that should be taken into consideration. We all know how Slade operates. At least, we thought we did. Apparently, he's even more hideous than we'd thought. And Terra grew up in total isolation—we could have explained things to her more."

"Oh yeah, it sure is difficult to figure out that the _masked man_ who hangs around in the shadows and _tries to kill us_ is a bad guy," Raven snarled.

"This _masked man_ took what should be joyous and made it vile. It does not matter what Terra may have concluded; the fault is with Slade." Starfire still hadn't let go of the couch, and Robin noticed that the seams were beginning to strain under her grip as she annunciated every word with a furious deliberation that was impossible to miss.

Raven glared. "In other words, something bad happened to her, therefore nothing she ever did is her fault. Robin's the expert on logic, but I think the problem there is self-evident."

Beast Boy shrugged off Cyborg's arm and turned around towards Raven. "Y'know, you've been acting weird ever since you went all Vader on Slade at the hospital. I think _you're_ the one who's being unlogical here."

_"Illogical_, genius."

Robin held up his hands, swallowing the fallacy lecture that was trying to find its way out of his mouth. "We're discussing Terra, alright? Now. It's clear to me that we can't turn her away."

"The hell we can't!"

"Raven, listen. If we tell Terra that she's no longer welcome here, where is she going to go? Who would be right there to convince her that he's the only person who would take her in, that he was right all along about the horrible Titans, that he'd help her be good as long as she did _exactly _what he said?"

"Good point," said Cyborg. "I thought last night that kicking her out would cause more problems that it'd solve."

"I wholeheartedly agree," Starfire murmured, staring straight through Robin, lost inside a nightmare that she couldn't crawl out of, a nightmare that clearly had nothing to do with whether or not she agreed. "Terra should never have to face that _creature _again." And the venom was right behind her eyes, righteous and dangerous and horrified.

"Do you even have to ask?" Beast Boy said quietly.

Robin turned to Raven, willing her to understand, willing her empathy to understand what she herself wouldn't consider. Terra couldn't be sent away; that much was clear. He'd overrule Raven in an instant if he had to but, like last night, he didn't want her angry at him. It wasn't nearly enough to get in the way of what he had to do—but it would hurt.

Finally, she sighed. "Outvoted. Lovely." Given the circumstances, that was good enough for now.

"So she's staying," said Robin. "The second question is if she's staying as a Titan."

_"No,"_ said Raven, just as Beast Boy and Starfire nodded their heads vehemently. Raven seemed to contemplate standing up, but settled on leaning forward in her chair. "You think she deserves that, after what she did to us?"

"It's not a question of whether she deserves it or not." Cyborg took Beast Boy's plate away from him as it had become quite apparent that he was just making a mess. "We leave the Tower for a fight, and she's alone here. We can't have that. At least one of us has to be with her at all times…so she needs to fight with us."

Robin nodded. "Besides—if we tell her she can't fight, that will just make her resent us, possibly cause her to willfully…go back to Slade." He suppressed the shudder. "It's better to treat her as normally as possible, though obviously we'll have to take precautions."

Beast Boy's eyes narrowed. "What kind of _precautions?"_

"You can always stand by the bathroom door while she takes a shower," said Raven.

"Well, yes, actually," said Cyborg. "I think the agreement for her to stay should include one of us being with her at all times—and locking her in her room at night. No computer access."

"That seems reasonable." Starfire nodded, though her eyes were downcast and her shoulders slumped.

Robin would have preferred the subject to have been broached slightly more diplomatically, but it was nonetheless a valid point. And now that he thought about it, relying on five sets of eyes—at least two of which were already sympathetic to Terra—wouldn't be good enough. "Not that I don't trust our ability to watch her, but I'd feel better knowing that she had a tracking device of some sort," he said.

"I can design something today," Cyborg offered.

"It's alright; I'll do it." Robin knew that he had to, because he had to personally see it done before he'd really believe that it would work. Cyborg was good, and Robin knew he was good, but…he just needed to know exactly how it worked. To his relief, Cyborg nodded evenly and dropped the subject.

"So basically, Terra can stay a Titan as long as we keep her prisoner here and put one of those invisible fence dog collar thingies on her. I'm not sure I like this." Beast Boy stretched over Cyborg to snatch back his plate, scowling when Cyborg held it out of reach.

"I'm not so sure _I _like it, either," said Raven. She paused as if suddenly realizing something horrible. "I'm also not so sure it's a good thing that I just agreed with you."

Beast Boy rolled his eyes and focused his attention on wrestling his plate away from Cyborg.

"House arrest, not prisoner," said Robin, looking at each of the others in turn and waiting for their attention. "Does everyone agree?"

"Yes, and I wish to speak with Terra." Starfire had pulled one of the pillows in front of her chest, hugging it slightly. "She has been alone quite long enough and deserves to have the situation explained."

"Gotcha. Can I bring her up?" Cyborg asked. "Beast Boy, go put your plate in the sink; I clean up after you enough." He smiled a little when Beast Boy reluctantly shuffled over in the general direction of the kitchen, eyes notably less haunted.

Robin ignored the second part of his statement, focusing on what had been directed at him. "Yeah, and later I want her to meet with me privately. I have to assess the extent of the damage and get everything that happened documented. I'm just glad we caught this when we did; as bad as it might be, it could have been much worse."

After Cyborg left, Starfire stood with purpose, and strode over to Robin, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. "Friend, when you are finished with your meeting with Terra, please let me know. I have several new movies which I believe she will benefit from viewing."

He nodded, and promised that he'd take Terra straight to Starfire's room. She was right: a distraction was what Terra needed now, and though it was probably not the kindest thing to force her to relive the past few months in great detail, he was going to have to because that was his job. Starfire could handle sympathy and healing, though he wondered how easy it would be for her to fully understand what had happened, given the little that he knew about how her culture viewed sex. It probably didn't matter: in all likelihood, she wouldn't even mention it. Some people had a way of knowing what others needed to hear, and Starfire was one of them.

Robin wasn't. He just did what he had to do.

* * *

It had been a long morning. And afternoon. 

Terra had looked very small, sitting across from him in his workroom, twirling her hair around her finger and keeping her eyes on Robin's keyboard. He kept having to prompt her to continue, to elaborate, to stop whispering. Two hours later, he'd gotten the full story from her—or at least, as much as he could urge her to tell, and as much as she understood. An hour after that, he'd documented the incident to his satisfaction. Reading through the record was like going over the answers to some test he'd failed, wondering what possibly could have possessed him to be so stupid. Everything was there, so clearly that he probably shouldn't have even been surprised.

And he wasn't _really _surprised when Terra had remembered something and nonchalantly announced that, "And then he had me put some DVD on the table in the living room…" like one more line in a badly learned litany. It didn't change how he felt, though, and it was almost impossible to control his reaction and just note the fact with the rest, nodding as if this was no more significant to him than anything else she'd said.

Terra had wanted to know what happened to it. Robin declined to comment.

It was still highly likely that there were details that Terra didn't remember, didn't know about, or couldn't be persuaded to disclose. But for now, it would have to be good enough until he could gather more information.

He felt his chest get tight at the little, nagging voice that knew exactly where he could get more information—where he would have to get it, eventually, because Slade wouldn't let this go unnoticed. Robin shuddered and pushed the thought away, opening his email. If he didn't respond to Bruce, there would be consequences. And considering the last time he'd called to admonish Robin about responsibility… He honestly had no idea what he should say, but he had to say something. He couldn't visit; that was out of the question. It would take about fifteen minutes for Bruce to realize that something was wrong, and Robin could think of a lot of very painful things he'd rather do than answer the questions that would follow. Maybe if he—

Robin had mail. And it wasn't from Bruce.

He didn't recognize the address, which immediately made him conclude that it was a virus, but a simple scan negated that idea. There were no file attachments. No subject. After assuring himself that there was no danger, he opened it.

_I'm really quite disappointed, Robin. It seems that I have once again overestimated your intelligence. I thought that the gift I sent you would be enlightening in a number of ways, but it appears that you had neither the time nor the initiative necessary to decipher it before it was spelled out in block letters. A pity. We could have had such fun if you had only the skill to see what was right in front of your little face. I suppose I shouldn't have hoped; we both know where your true talents lie._

_Nevertheless. I notice that you have something that belongs to me. And I regret to inform you that I am most displeased. But we shall, no doubt, discuss that later._

_For now, I must offer you my felicitations. I have it on very good authority that you have replaced me. Of course, I'm wounded that you would reject me so flippantly, but I'm sure even you are familiar with the concept of displacement. Besides, perhaps we can still make good use of this turn of events. I'm certain that the young lady would be quite interested to hear of our history together. Perhaps I should inform her. Don't you think she should be made aware? After all, no healthy relationship should have secrets. Who knows? The thought of you moaning my name as you squirmed beneath me might…excite her. _

His first thought was confusion, mind stumbling over a detail that didn't make sense because he was completely unable to react to the real issue. Didn't make any sense until he remembered one of the last things Terra had said as she blushed deeply and tried to avoid his face.

_"And, like, I sorta told him that you and Raven were going out; I didn't mean to but every time I talked to him he just yanked everything out of me that was in my head, and…and, well,_ aren't_ you?"_

He'd corrected her, of course, filing away the information to consider later, at a more appropriate time. This…well, this was still not an appropriate time, but maybe it had to be dealt with now anyway. Involving Raven might not be the best course of action, given that she was the subject of the email, but she was the only one who knew why Robin would be receiving it. He was _not _going to involve anyone else. And Robin had learned his lesson about dealing with things alone.

Robin pushed his chair away from the desk slightly, took a deep breath, and printed the email. Folding it neatly, he stood and started down the hallway towards Raven's room, wondering when going in there had become so natural.

* * *

"So basically, he's pissed because even Terra outsmarted him and he got tired of licking his wounds, so he's emailing you to bitch about it." 

He stared at her, speechless. The words were so matter-of-fact, the way she scrutinized the paper in her hand, almost clinically, so he had to wonder if she was deliberately joking or just… Raven probably wouldn't joke about this. Though Robin himself wasn't even sure how to react. He knew exactly how he would have reacted two months ago, and only knew that it was nothing like how he felt now.

"Yeah, this is about as important as the splinter that Beast Boy was whining about last week." She handed it back to him, shaking her head. "The best place for it is the shredder."

He took the paper and refolded it, feeling more…powerful, somehow. In the back of his mind, as much as he didn't like it, he'd resigned himself to believing that Slade was always right, that Slade always wins, and this time…this time, Slade was _wrong. _No matter what he'd said in the email, he was still wrong, and that kept him from losing grip on reality.

Reality was that Raven already knew. She knew everything Slade was threatening to tell, in explicit detail. It made Robin feel sick to think of _how _she knew.

"Yeah…you're right," he said, hating the tremor in his voice.

She was touching his fingertips before he had time to think about it, and then Robin felt the familiar touch of her emotions—and it had become familiar, now—erasing all the lingering doubts he hadn't even realized he'd been harboring. He closed his eyes briefly, feeling his breathing slow. God, he _liked _this.

"I'm good at being right," said Raven after she broke the connection. She smiled at him, and he felt himself echoing the gesture before he remembered something and took his hands away. "You might want to consider telling them, though."

"Telling who what?"

"You know who," she said. "And what. The others. I can see him threatening to tell the whole team, and it would be better to hear it from you than from him."

On some level, Robin knew that the idea should horrify him, but it was hard to be horrified about anything so soon after sensing what Raven was feeling. It was relaxing, somehow. "I really can't. I didn't make you swear not to tell just to see if you could keep a secret."

Raven's hand twitched faintly and her eyes shifted to the floor before she sighed and looked back at his face. "They wouldn't hate you, Robin. And they wouldn't lose respect for you or think any of the things that Slade said they would."

"Yeah," he muttered, unable to believe it. It made sense, and yet it didn't. He…he just needed some time to decide whether he could believe that or not. "Maybe I will."

"That tone means you're planning to tell them when Terra takes up nuclear physics—and passes. But it's alright. When you're ready. If you're ready. I just wanted to make sure you knew that he might try that."

Robin nodded. "I'll deal with it."

"In the meantime," said Raven, brightening as she turned her attention to her bookcase, kneeling down to remove a particularly dusty volume from the bottom shelf. "I have a present for you." She opened the book to the inside back cover, and slid a compact disk out from between the pages.

Robin didn't need any further explanation. "So you've decided I can have it back, then?"

"Yes." Raven placed the disk in his hands, closing his fingers around it gently. "I thought you'd want to smash it yourself." She kept her hands on his a fraction longer than was necessary. Robin didn't mind.

He stared at it, every rational part of his brain screaming what a terrible idea this was. "But…" He couldn't just _destroy_ a disk. You didn't _do _that. Besides, it was so violent, impulsive…

"It was about Terra. She was the replacement. There's nothing else you can learn from it—and you need to break it."

"We could always just throw it away," he suggested halfheartedly, knowing he would lose this argument, finding that he was almost eager to give up the charade of protesting because the idea was starting to sound very satisfying.

Raven smirked. "You're much too thorough for that. What if someone picked it up out of the trash?"

"Point taken." He held the disk with two hands, the surface catching the light of Raven's lamp, remembering. The fight, and being alone and sick and terrified, thinking he'd killed all of the others—why had he ever thought he'd killed the others?—and finding the disk, the disk that Terra had planted, and how he couldn't remember how to work the DVD player to get it out once he realized what it was, and then days upon days of forcing himself to hit the replay button when what he really wanted to do was pull a blanket over his head and cry…

_You're probably just about to eject this disk, break it in your little hands, and burn the pieces._

"Yeah, Slade," he said. "Yeah, I am."

It took him a moment to remember that Raven was still in the room, watching him. She didn't say anything in response to him speaking out loud, and Robin knew that she wouldn't. Finally, her voice cut into his thoughts. "Break it," she said, watching as he stared down at the disk, unmoving.

"I can't."

"Robin! It's _worthless_ now. You don't need it."

"Yeah, but CDs can shatter when broken, and the pieces can--"

"Robin--you're a superhero. You're in a costume that can survive some bullets. Break the damn disk!"

And the crunch when Robin snapped the disk in half was one of the best sounds he'd ever heard. "It's still not secure," he said. "Data can be retrieved from it."

"Yeah. But you can toss it in the CD sander, and it'll destroy the rest. But it seemed like you needed to do some of it yourself."

"Thank you," he whispered. Then turned and started to his workroom, where the equipment for permanently and completely destroying the data on a CD was stored. He felt almost like he was sleepwalking as he went, put thedisk into the machine, and flipped the switch. He didn't turn it off until long after it had been completely destroyed, just stared at the little machine.

Raven made it abundantly clear that she wasn't going to say anything unless he did, but Robin didn't have anything to say. There was nothing to say after he'd finally opened the machine and emptied the remains into a trash can. So he silently put his arms around her, some part of his mind wondering if this was a bad idea but at the same time sure that it wasn't. Raven returned the embrace, almost as if she'd been expecting it, and he rested his head on her shoulder and let himself forget that compact disks existed.

* * *

**Thank y'all so much for being understanding as I struggle through summer classes! I'm trying to work on these stories as much as I can, and I will try to have the next chapter out ASAP. Next update will be BL only due to timeline differences, then we'll get back to CD. Comments are appreciated and loved! Take care!**


	13. One to One Correspondence

**Bright Line**

**Chapter Thirteen: One-to-One Correspondence

* * *

**

"You need to tell him."

"No."

"I am damn well going to tell him myself if you don't, Robin."

He laughed dryly. "That would go over well."

Raven rolled her eyes, reaching into the bag she was holding for another piece of chocolate and unwrapping the foil with deliberation. "You need to tell him."

"How long have we been arguing about this?" Well, arguing wasn't really the right word: it had mostly consisted of Raven repeating herself over and over and Robin refusing over and over.

"Two days. And I'm not getting bored if you're not," said Raven. "Seriously. It would help. He's—Robin, you've unconditionally refused therapy, and I don't agree, but that's your decision. But you're sixteen years old, as of last Friday. You shouldn't have to deal with this on your own."

"I'm not," he said, and he'd only meant to reach over and touch her free hand, but somehow neither one of them let go. For a moment, there was only silence and the waves crashing against the rocks as they walked the perimeter of the island. The others were having a video game tournament in the living room, and there was no chance of being overheard outside. Besides—it was nice.

Raven squeezed his hand, smiling and shaking her head. "That's not what I meant. It's become this horrible secret that only one person knows—a teenage girl with no qualifications to deal with trauma, might I add—and it's hurting you to keep hiding it from the people you care about."

Robin was fairly sure she wasn't talking about the rest of the team. "Who says I care about him?"

"That," said Raven, pointing the bag of chocolate at his forehead.

"And the only time you've actually _seen _him, he was yelling at me and I was crying hysterically."

"Actually, for what it's worth, he wasn't yelling at you, from what I saw. And you didn't cry hysterically until after I hung up on him." She paused, pretending to think about the statement. "Which I suspect he still hasn't quite forgiven me for."

_No, probably not. _Truthfully, he didn't have much memory of that day, except that he had talked to Raven about statistical analyses for a wholly inappropriate amount of time, then had finally shuffled to his room, Raven half-supporting him with telekinesis, and slept for the rest of the evening. "But, why? What is talking to him going to solve?"

Raven stopped walking, looking out at the water and squinting into the afternoon sunlight. "Okay, you're right, I don't know. I don't know any more than what I've felt from you and what _everyone _knows—and I don't _need _to know, so if security is what you're concerned about, stop being concerned. But I do know that—" She bit her lip. "He's the closest thing you have to a parent, isn't he?"

The tightening in his chest that he'd always had to shove aside whenever that subject was brought up wasn't there. He just nodded, marveling at how she'd figured that out, then wondering what _else _she knew about him. Robin decided that it didn't bother him, whatever she knew. So he just nodded.

"You need to tell him, then," she repeated seriously, dropping his hand and twisting around to face him. "And not over the vidphone. Or email. Or smoke signals."

"You're not saying I should—"

Raven finished the thought before he could. "Visit him? Yeah. You really should. I'm sure I don't need to tell you that he isn't stupid. He's probably all but figured it out on his own, anyway."

That idea _did _make his chest tighten. "Have I been that obvious?"

Although Raven just sighed without actually answering, Robin could fill in the blanks himself. Replaying all of their recent conversations in his head didn't exactly instill a great sense of confidence: Bruce would know that something was wrong by now. And once he decided that the risk of whatever he thought was wrong outweighed the possible consequences of coming to California, it wouldn't matter what Robin thought about visiting him.

"He did email me a few days ago. Implying that I should."

She nodded. "And what did you say?"

"Nothing, yet," he said, hardly pausing to be annoyed with himself for forgetting a responsibility _again_. After the email from Slade, he'd forgotten why he'd been on the computer in the first place—which, considering the circumstances, wasn't exactly unreasonable. "I need to answer him, though."

"Do you really not want to see him? Or are you afraid to?" She asked the second question as she brushed gently against his mind, not to gather information, just making it clear that there were other options if he couldn't answer her with words.

He considered for a fraction of a second, decided that it was a fantastic idea, and let her see some of the unexplainable emotions that he associated with Bruce and the whole situation. Robin knew that she was capable of reading him whether he wanted her to or not—though she never would...well, almost never—but it was easier when he wanted her to see, and through practice he'd been able to learn _how _to do that, what it felt like when she asked permission and how to grant it.

"Yeah. That's what I thought," she said, taking a step toward him. "It'll be okay, Robin. I know I said back in February that I wouldn't say that to you as a trite reassurance, but this is different. It's true. Your father is not going to be mad at you because a psychopath kidnapped and raped you."

"It's not just—"

"He won't lose respect for you, either, _god._ Did _I _lose respect for you? Did _I _think it was your fault? And he knows you a lot better than I do." Raven took both of his hands in hers—somehow, the bag had ended up on the ground at her feet—and then Robin couldn't think of anything to say in response, so she continued. "It will help you. Even beyond telling him, I think you need to see him. And from what you showed me just now, I think you _want _to see him."

He wanted to, and yet he didn't. Robin couldn't recall the exact moment where the disagreements had become insurmountable, to the point where neither of them could back down without a loss of pride, of dignity, of…something. There could be no quiet reconciliation, and when he considered it, he _did _want that; the real problem was that he didn't know how. "Sorta," he muttered, and it wasn't at all what he'd wanted to say, but hopefully Raven understood regardless.

"Unusually articulate this afternoon, I see." She smirked. "So you'll consider it?"

_"Fine,_ I'll ask if it's convenient for him, happy now?" With an immense measure of luck, it wouldn't be. But with the way Robin had been acting, that was about as likely as Starfire kicking a puppy.

"Elated," said Raven dryly, though there was a touch of humor underneath the word that Robin had come to recognize as playful.

The idea of seeing Bruce was beginning to become real, and the only thing that kept the nervousness in check was the feeling of Raven's hand in his as they walked back towards the Tower. It had morphed into a faint—but pervasive—sense of dread by the time they'd gotten into the elevator and let go of each other.

* * *

It _was _convenient for him. 

He'd waited two more days before he asked, trying to find the right words, but now Robin had plane tickets and Raven had a self-satisfied smirk on her face. As much as he'd been hoping that he wouldn't have to do it, he knew that he only had his avoidance to blame for the hesitation, and Robin faced his problems. When had Bruce become a problem? He was almost sure that he hadn't always been, except then something had changed and he didn't know if it was Bruce or himself or something else, and he watched the tickets slowly emerge from the printer as if the little lines of barcode could tell him the answer.

He leaned back in his chair, shoulder brushing Raven's hand. "So you came in here because you didn't believe that I'd actually buy them?"

"No," she sighed. "I came in here because I enjoy being around you, revolutionary as that might sound." She let go of the back of his chair, moved to lean against his desk so she was facing him.

_"Okay,_ Rae," he muttered, pulling the tickets out of the printer.

She didn't respond for a moment, slowly crossing her arms over her chest and raising an eyebrow. "What was that?'

"What was what?"

"What did you just call me?"

Realization hit him like cold water and he cringed. "Oh, that, god, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking." He hadn't _meant _to say it, but he also hadn't_ thought_, and that was the first thing that came out when he wasn't thinking. And he knew how many times Beast Boy had done it, and how many times Raven had looked ready to fry him, and yet he still couldn't—

"Well, Beast Boy never _asked._ Not like he ever asks for anything."

"I…didn't say that out loud." He was pretty sure he hadn't, anyway. It was sometimes hard to tell with her. "And you're saying that—"

Raven shrugged innocently. "I didn't say anything except that Beast Boy never asked if he could."

He stared at her, wondering if this was a particularly elaborate trap to humiliate him, decided that Raven didn't do unauthorized humiliation, and made himself say the words. "Except what I think you were implying was that you wanted me to ask how much of my lungs you would rip out through my nose if I called you 'Rae'."

She smirked, eyes bright, and didn't answer right away; he wasn't sure if she was buying herself time to think about how best to use this new leverage, trying to make him nervous, or both. "Alright, I'll make you a deal."

"Do I really want to know what this 'deal' is?"

"If you want to use that nickname again, you do." She fixed him with a crooked smile. "You can call me 'Rae' whenever you're not wearing your mask."

"…What?"

"I forgot what color your eyes are."

Forehead wrinkling, he looked up at her blankly. "You forgot…_oh."_ Of course, she was one of the few people he knew who could forget, because you couldn't forget what you never knew—and Raven did know. She'd seen. Twice. One of those times involving her seeing substantially more than his eyes. A stab of humiliation made him turn away, staring intensely at his desktop even though there was nothing of relevance there.

Raven winced and put her hand to her forehead, and Robin was barely able to suppress the guilt of knowing that he'd hurt her—because the guilt would hurt her _more._ "That's not what I wanted to remind you of. Damn it. It was probably a stupid thing to ask you to do. I'm sorry. I just—" She stopped mid-sentence, looking at the floor.

It would have upset him not too long ago, but somehow, when Raven said it, here, _now,_ it didn't make him nauseated and offended and horrified. He knew that this wasn't the disaster of a few weeks ago; knew that she'd asked just like he'd asked, and that he wasn't pushing her away like he would have a few months past.

He also knew that Raven definitely hadn't really forgotten what color his eyes were.

He released a long, slow breath. For some reason, once he considered the idea, it wasn't as monumental and appalling as he'd always thought it would be. He'd avoided her for days after the incident in February, but this felt completely different, with Raven leaning against his desk, making sure she wasn't disturbing any papers and looking like she was seriously considering falling through the floor. It was different, and it didn't—well, it still _meant _something, but it didn't mean the things he'd expected it to mean, and after everything that had happened—it was okay.

"You know, you _have _sort of been letting me see every private emotion that's crossed your mind. I think the least I can do is show you my eyes."

Her head snapped up. "Robin, seriously, you don't have to, this was a bad idea, I'm sorry…"

"I know I don't have to," he said. "Maybe I _want _to. Rae."

As if disconnected from his brain, his hands reached up to his face and he closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he was looking at Raven without his mask, just as he'd done when she'd teleported into his room, furious, with that disk spinning in front of her—except this time she was shocked, not furious, and instead of wanting to find a dark corner in which to quietly die, Robin couldn't fight the smile.

She opened her mouth, closed it, tried to speak a few more times and failed, and then Robin decided to save her the embarrassment. "Really, it's a little ridiculous that it took me this long—any weakness you could have seen, you've basically already seen. I guess it was habit more than anything else that kept me from doing it sooner."

"I—and—thank you," Raven breathed. She was staring at him, and he'd known she would stare, but it wasn't like the way Slade had looked at him and he didn't mind.

"A deal's a deal, and I keep my word," he said.

He shifted uncomfortably, not really knowing what else he could say, and Raven still seemed thoroughly out of words. Silence didn't bother Robin, but awkward silence did, and even though they didn't have much of that, he didn't like it. Finally, his eyes fell on the tickets, and he gestured to them self-consciously. "I'm…leaving on Friday."

"That was fast," she commented.

"He has connections."

Raven nodded. "Fair enough."

"I _really _don't want to do this, just so you know," Robin said. Didn't want to upset whatever delicate balance they'd achieved over the past year. Knew that before any understanding could be reached—if one could be reached at all—they'd have to both get visibly angry first…and as much as it made him a coward, Robin wanted to omit that part.

"You do and you don't." She laid a hand on his wrist, rubbing his forearm with her thumb. "Like you said two days ago. But I admire you for going ahead and doing it anyway; I don't know if I could, if it were me. Just so you know."

"And it's after seven and I'm hungry, just so you know."

"You want pizza?" She smiled, letting go of his hand. Robin missed the contact when she did.

"I thought we all ate too much pizza for your tastes," he said, standing up.

"No, we eat too much pizza when Terra and Beast Boy decide to see who can blow their straw wrappers the farthest. But Terra and Beast Boy are at a carnival so I think that's taken care of."

A trickle of fear wormed its way into him. "Didn't they say they'd be back early?"

"Robin, it's seven. They're still early, and if something happens to make them not early, I think Starfire and Cyborg can handle it. You promised me you'd stay out of Neurotic Land."

"It's eight minutes _after _seven, and I promised that I'd stay out of the It's All My Fault Realm. I said nothing about the other one; that was you."

Raven rolled her eyes, a grin stretched across her face. "Let's just go eat; the resident therapist is taking the evening off."

* * *

It felt like cheating. Sitting here in the restaurant, staring out the window and just pretending that everything was _fine_, ignoring the fact that he was going to see Bruce in three days, that he still had no idea if they could put even an ounce of trust in Terra, that Slade's silence couldn't possibly be permanent…that he was supposed to save the world. Not forgetting all of that, exactly, because he did recognize it but… 

Somehow, it felt like cheating. And somehow, when he thought he was just putting his hand on the table and ended up touching Raven's fingertips, he didn't mind.

He minded even less when she turned her hand around so their fingers laced together. And for a few seconds, he didn't care if he was cheating, because it was worth cheating for.

"What the goddamned hell are we doing?"

He turned back to face her, pulling himself back to full awareness as he dropped her hand abruptly and focusing on her horrified face, her fear tangible even to him. It had been sudden and obvious, the change in her emotions sharp, undeniable, and he was rapidly failing to fight down the panic. "We're…waiting for food—I think. Are you alright?" he asked, not entirely sure if he wanted to know the answer.

She shook her head, hands slamming down on the table, grabbing the first thing her hand touched—Robin's fork—and picking it up to twirl it fitfully. "No. No, what are _we _doing, in general, what's _happened?_

He stared at her in confusion. "I wasn't aware that something had happened between five minutes ago and now."

"No, listen, what's happened with _us, _the past few days—maybe it was even weeks, I don't even know anymore—this is bad, this is my fault, I'm such an idiot—"

"I'd listen to you if you were making any sense whatsoever, but you're not!"

She took a deep breath, bit her lip and paused, closing her eyes as he felt her draw into herself. The nervousness started to take root, because if this was bad enough to make Raven have to consciously calm herself—no matter how sudden and ridiculous it seemed, it was bad.

Finally, she opened her eyes, shaking her head slowly. The fork floated out of her grasp and down to the table. "I'm sorry. And it's not bad, and I'm not upset, and you shouldn't be either."

"You sounded pretty upset…"

"I know, but just listen, and I promise I'll make sense this time. I just…" She stopped again, swallowing. "I need to know if this is okay."

It wasn't like Raven to be so indirect; she said what she meant, without fear, but now she was stumbling over the words like Terra always did when she had something to say that she didn't want to say. "Is what okay?"

_"This,"_ said Raven. She took another deep breath. "Robin, maybe you haven't noticed, but this is kind of a date."

He stared at her, frozen. The first thing he thought of was Terra, squirming in her seat and confessing that she'd told Slade that—that they were—and he couldn't get the irony out of his head, because that had been only a week ago—except maybe it was like Raven said and it had happened long before that, but neither of them had realized...

"Are _you _okay?" he asked slowly, a large part of him afraid that somehow she wouldn't be—and the rest of him shocked that it existed, that he wanted it to be okay, wanted it desperately. But he had to make absolutely sure, so he forced himself to continue. "I mean, you couldn't actually want to—"

"Want to what?" she interrupted. "Date you? Yes. Yes, actually, I do, and I don't know if this will make things better or worse but I need to say it anyway. Of _course _it's okay with me, it's better than okay, but I'm not going to push something on you that—that you're not ready for."

He leaned back in his chair, forehead wrinkling. "Wait a minute. You—think I'm _scared?"_

"No!" Raven sighed heavily. "It's not about you being a coward or anything like that, just…just tell me if you can do this, alright? If you _want _to do this," she amended, seeing something in his expression—or feeling something.

Robin looked back at her from behind the mask, and he would have taken it off if there hadn't been people around, because then it would be easier to make her understand. But he couldn't do that here, so he settled on the truth. Bruce had always said he was a terrible liar, anyway. "It's okay. Really. And I'm not scared."

"But look, if you start getting uncomfortable—"

"Then I'll let you know. You'd probably know first anyway. In the meantime, it's okay with me if it's okay with you." He still felt the doubt and the shame and the sliver of concern that it would _stop _being okay, but it was dormant, manageable—and Robin thought that this might be the best way to make sure it stayed so. He laughed suddenly, surprised at how real it was. "The others will—I don't even know what they'd do." Except for Terra, who would probably start picking out names for their children or something similarly ridiculous.

"And we won't know what they'd do, because there's no reason to tell them," Raven said. "They already think we're dating." Seeing the surprise that must have been all over his face, she rolled her eyes and smiled. "I know you don't exactly notice that kind of thing, but yeah, they did. I seriously doubt they'll be all that surprised."

"Okay, so that's a moot point. In any case, I'm glad we…got thisstraightened out," said Robin. They both knew what _this _was, but neither of them said it—and they didn't need to. It didn't matter what they called it, really.

"Yeah. And you'll _tell me_ if it's too much?"

"As you keep reminding me, you're an empath. Somehow, I don't think I'll need to actually tell you."

Her smile widened considerably, and then her glass fell to the table, ice and soda spilling out as she swore and sprung to her feet. It immediately reminded him of that day they'd all gone out and he'd spilled his drink when Beast Boy—he'd said something, but Robin couldn't remember and didn't care. Except Raven hadn't actually touched the glass. On very rare occasions, Robin was glad that he didn't have superpowers.

"God, I'm sorry, I'm still getting used to this," she muttered as she grabbed for the napkins, dragging the dispenser along with her for a few inches when she couldn't get a good handful. "For some reason, it's really easy to forget that the good emotions can screw things up, too."

Robin rose to his feet, leaning across the table to help her. Holding her glass in one hand, he tossed the ice cubes back into it one by one, telling her that it was fine and that one spilled drink—or two—was the least of their worries. Their fingers brushed together, and he felt his heart beat faster. He wasn't sure exactly what it was, but he did know that Raven had a great smile, especially when she was embarrassed, and that he hadn't been this happy in a long time.


	14. Modus Tollens

**Bright Line**

**Chapter Fourteen: Modus Tollens**

* * *

Six-thirty was relatively late for Robin, but the others were hardly ever up at this hour, so he wasn't expecting Raven to be in the kitchen. But she was, stirring something in a plastic bowl, looking up to smile at him when she noticed that he was standing there, watching her. 

"Oatmeal?"

"I didn't know you cooked." They usually left that to Cyborg, because Robin didn't have time and he didn't trust some of them with the stove and Starfire's cooking was…sometimes a health hazard for a whole host of reasons.

Raven quirked an eyebrow, placing the two bowls in the microwave and hitting a button. "I don't. At all. But I can handle opening a packet and pouring in some water. As long as the directions are really detailed."

"Do you need help?" he asked quickly, not wanting to just stand there.

She reached across the bar and poked him in the shoulder. "What part of 'packet and water' was too hard to understand? You ready to go?"

"If you don't need help making oatmeal, I _definitely _don't need help packing," he said, indicating the bag at his feet.

Raven leaned over to look at it, turned back to him to roll her eyes. "Yeah, and I bet you might even be able to fit a toothbrush in there." The microwave beeped and she set one of the bowls in front of him, along with a glass of orange juice. "Turns out I can pour from cartons, too; there _is _hope for the world."

"Thanks. Seriously." He hadn't been expecting anyone to be up, would have completely understood if she didn't want to—besides, they'd already said goodbye last night—but it made what he was about to do just slightly less impossible.

Raven shrugged, moving around to sit next to him. "If I didn't, you'd never eat, and you're cranky when you don't eat so I didn't think that would go over well."

"I am _not!"_

"Fine, I amend that." She smirked. "You're cranky when you haven't eaten, slept, or been anywhere except in the danger room or in front of your computer for three days."

"I've gone for five."

_"Robin!"_

He finished his juice without taking a breath, deliberately using the opportunity to pause before responding. "It's _fine, _Rae. Don't worry, really. I spent years learning how to do it."

"Doesn't mean you should have had to. And take your mask off, please."

Sighing, he obeyed, staring back at her evenly and suddenly aware of a thread of emotion from her that made him gasp…and then smile, slowly, uncertainly. He didn't know what it was—verbalizing emotion wasn't exactly his strong point, anyway—but he could gather that it was a good thing, gentle enough that it didn't overwhelm him like he thought that something like this might.

"Did you start wearing it because you got tired of people staring at you, or what?"

He rolled his eyes. "No, I started wearing the mask so people wouldn't discover my identity." He twisted around in his seat until their knees were almost touching. "Duh."

"Shut up; you're gorgeous and you know it," Raven said, and he couldn't tell which parts of the sentence were teasing and which were serious. Because actually, he _didn't_ know it, and would argue the point if he didn't have to leave in fifteen minutes. Before, Robin had just never paid attention to how he looked, but after Slade, he hadn't looked in a mirror if he could absolutely help it. And when he did, 'gorgeous' was _not_ the word that came to mind. But he did have to leave in fifteen minutes, so Raven would just have to live with the mistaken conclusion that he was gorgeous until he could come back and correct her.

"I…I think I'm going to miss my flight if I don't leave soon," he muttered, standing up.

Raven nodded and followed wordlessly. The past few days had been difficult and embarrassing for both of them, and though it was hard to imagine Raven being awkward at anything (with the possible exception of sports), he was slowly beginning to realize that she didn't have any more idea on how to act than he did. Of course, there was the added complication of her being under the impression that Robin was liable to break into a thousand pieces at any moment. He couldn't decide if her excessive concern annoyed or reassured him. It _was _excessive, but this way he didn't have to worry about the things he'd done that he _never _wanted to do again, and even though he knew in his head that he wasn't evil for the way his body had reacted, it still—sometimes he still had trouble separating intellect from emotion.

If anything, Robin had come to the somewhat paradoxical realization that he didn't know half as much about relationships as he'd thought. That just because he'd done things that some his age didn't even know existed didn't mean that he knew what to do when Raven put her arms around his neck and urged him closer. He'd expected a cold shudder but that wasn't what he felt at all.

"Are you mad at me?" she asked quietly, resting her chin on his shoulder.

"Hmm?"

"For making you go see Batman."

He sighed, and shifted slightly so his arms felt a little less awkward. "No. Just mad at myself that this is so hard."

She lowered her hand slightly to rub the place where neck met shoulder, and it distracted him enough that he almost had difficulty processing what she said. "You haven't seen him in almost a year and now you're going to tell him that something terrible happened to you. Of course it's hard."

"Uh huh," he mumbled into her hair.

Raven laughed, drawing back so they were looking at each other again, though she didn't let him go. "Wake up; you have to go drive a motorcycle. As I was saying, it'll make things better in the long run; I wouldn't have encouraged you if I didn't really believe that."

"Wouldn't have _made _me, you mean."

"Let's compromise: persuaded you. Call me tonight, okay? _Seriously,_ call me. And no fair getting obsessed with something and saying you forgot to call me."

"Okay, no obsessing. Promise." The worry would have annoyed him if it had come from someone else, but somehow, knowing that she wanted him to call made him feel better about leaving.

"And you'll be back Tuesday night unless I hear otherwise, right?"

He nodded. "I sincerely doubt I'll have any lingering desire to stay there."

"You never know," she said brightly, then paused, had one of those silent arguments with herself before continuing, "I'll miss you. Nobody to ensure that we're all operating at full neuroticism, you know."

"I think that might have been sarcasm," said Robin.

"Then you're wrong, because I _will." _And somehow, her face was centimeters from Robin's, hesitant and uncertain and determined all at once, and he could feel her breath as she whispered, "…Is this okay?"

He managed a slight nod, and Raven closed the distance between them and kissed him. It was over before he had time to wonder if it was really okay or not, but he was fairly sure of the answer when he realized he was smiling. He knew he didn't want to do anything _more,_ but he also knew that he didn't have to, and Robin hadn't known that it could be like that—to know that he could make it stop if he wanted to, didn't have to do it because people would die if he didn't. Rationally, he knew that it wasn't that way with other people but—maybe that applied to him, too.

Robin knew he was blushing as much as she was, and he finally couldn't stand it any longer and broke the silence. "I need to go now."

She nodded, gave him another quick hug and then stepped back, releasing him as she moved away. "Try to have some fun. And call me. And be careful. And don't treat yourself like crap. And call me."

He paused with his hand on the door frame. "I will," he sighed, though it was hard to pretend to be annoyed at the attention when they were both very well aware that he _was_ just pretending. "Bye, Rae."

She waved, and he turned, leaving the mask off as he headed towards the elevator. He only looked back twice.

* * *

"If I accidentally got on a plane to Iceland, what would happen?" 

A teenage girl with low pigtails looked over her laptop to glare at the boy, presumably her brother. "Then I'd seriously consider believing in Santa Claus again."

"You're mean, Krista!"

The chair he was sitting in was hard, blue, and far too close to the little boy who was fiddling with a toy fire truck. Robin glanced at his watch, looking down to see the jeans that looked so wrong and out of place on him—but he was traveling as Richard, since the other option would connect his real life with Bruce Wayne. He felt exposed, weak, _human_. It wasn't exactly instilling a great sense of confidence for what he had to do.

"No, just honest," Krista returned, her gaze focusing on Robin for a microsecond before falling back to her laptop. She pulled on her pigtails, straightening them out.

The boy rolled his fire truck along the rail of Robin's chair. "Hi," he said. "We're going to Michigan and we're staying for our whole spring break, and my grandpa's gonna let me drive his truck."

Krista reached over and snatched the fire truck away. "Jackson, don't talk to strangers."

"But I'm _bored!"_

She glanced at Robin, raising an eyebrow and smirking. "You still shouldn't talk to strangers. They might kidnap you. Which would be a tragedy." Krista coughed. "Who knows," she continued brightly, voice suffused with sarcasm. "You might get picked up by that guy on the news, Slade, and you won't even have any superheroes around to save you."

Jackson stared at her with his mouth hanging open. "The one with the creepy, metal mask that only has one eye?"

"Yep, just the one," said Krista, leaning over him, gaze intense as she lowered her voice. "And then he'll take you home and chop you up into little pieces, and bake you in a pie and feed you to Mom, and _then_…"

"Shut up, Krista!" Jackson covered his ears.

"Lucky you, that's our flight," said Krista, rising and taking Jackson's hand as he grabbed for his fire truck with his free arm. "I can tell you fun Slade stories on the plane."

Robin took a deep breath but managed not to reply. He looked at his watch again and wondered if the others were up yet.

"Y'know…" Krista's voice drew his attention again—he'd known she'd been standing there staring at him, but chose not to comment. "Has anyone ever told you that you look a lot like Robin?"

Robin shrugged easily. "Not that I recall."

Krista narrowed her eyes and then finally resumed pulling Jackson to the terminal.

"Yeah, I couldn't _even_ get captured by Slade, 'cos Robin would save me, he _would_…"

The insistence in his high-pitched voice was not reassuring. Because Robin _didn't _know if he could save Jackson from Slade, didn't know if he could even face him again—he'd have to find a way, but the thought still left him nauseated. And it didn't matter how sure the little kid was; Robin knew that things weren't easy, that Santa Claus wasn't real, and that Slade would probably do a lot worse to Jackson than getting chopped up if he was actually captured.

It reminded him of something Beast Boy had said to him a few days ago, when he'd caught Robin alone in the gym—he'd been working out lately, of his own free will and at odd hours, which for Beast Boy indicated that he was taking Terra's revelation immeasurably harder than he was letting on.

"Haven't you ever thought about—_this?_ What we do? I mean, Robin, we're kids. Like, not even old enough to see R-rated movies, except for Cy. And after Terra…and Slade…and man, I know this shouldn't matter but he's an _adult_ and he _raped _her and who knows what he'd—I'm scared." He'd been leaning against the dumbbell rack, tracing his finger along one of the larger bars, spitting out the last two words like they were bones he'd almost swallowed.

And Robin hadn't known what to say, because there wasn't anything he could say that would make it better. _Oh, don't worry, Beast Boy, Slade raped me, too; everything will be fine. _There was nothing. When Slade was involved, you never made things better—you just survived, hopefully, and kept surviving till the next time you had to protect someone. And then you did your job.

But knowing that didn't help the way his stomach got stuck in his throat when he had to hear the small, pleading voice that had never sounded this small before, the one that had always counted on Robin to come through for him, except this time Robin couldn't do anything.

Because, when he was completely honest with himself, Robin was just as afraid as Beast Boy. Maybe more afraid. He leaned his hand into his arm and wondered if he should tell Bruce. Tell him _everything,_ up to and including begging for him to come deal with Slade. It was cowardly, it was quitting, it was everything Robin hated, but maybe Bruce was right, maybe he'd always been right and Robin wasn't ready for this—and the others would probably never forgive him, but seeing what had happened to Terra, the way Beast Boy had looked as he pleaded for Robin to save them all…

It made it real. More real than it had ever been. And Robin hated the way he suddenly wanted Bruce to hug him more than anything in the world.

Then, he noticed a tiny light in the corner of his watch. His heart stopped beating.

Terra. Oh god, _Terra. _

The voice on the loudspeaker was announcing something about Flight 8300 to Gotham, but Robin couldn't take his eyes away from the light, willing it to go out, unable to get a breath. Her tracking device. The one he'd rigged himself because he _needed_ to do it himself before he'd believe that it was adequate. The one that he'd fitted to her wrist last week with a stab of pity, as huge, blue eyes blinked at him in pain, confusion. The one he'd all but convinced himself that he didn't actually need, because Terra would never try so injudicious a course of action as running away.

And the light wouldn't go out. For a few more seconds, he just sat there, frozen in the blue, plastic seat, one shaking finger hovering over the buttons.

Then, he calmly pressed the sequence of keys that would turn the alarm off at the Tower, telling the nausea and the terror to stay buried within him where they belonged.

He'd said he would never do this again. Promised it to all of them after November, _swore _it to himself that night in the shower when he'd scrubbed himself raw as he cried. And yet, he was doing it. Impossibly. Idiotically.

Except, actually, it wasn't idiotic this time. Robin knew the consequences. He just didn't care. He had to save Terra, and in order for her to survive, the others couldn't ever know that she had triggered that alarm.

Because Raven would kill her. He really did believe that, and it wasn't one of the things he liked about her, but it was true. Even if he did somehow manage to stop Raven—and he wasn't confident that he could, not when Raven could telekinetically drop a bus on him if she wanted to—Terra's life was over if this got out. And he couldn't let that happen, not without at least hearing why…and considering how on edge she'd been lately, her mind could have manufactured any number of grounds for running away. Even for running to…Robin swallowed the thought and choked on it.

He didn't have a lot of time, and he was calling Bruce's private phone line before he'd had time to formulate an acceptable excuse, and he'd been hoping to just leave a message—why hadn't he just sent a voicemail, he was so_ stupid_—but wherever Bruce was at eleven-thirty—probably at work—he had his phone with him.

"Are you alright, Richard?" He didn't sound tired or aggravated, just concerned. Probably because he knew that there was no way Robin would be calling just to let him know where he was.

"Umm, sorry for interrupting…whatever, but I can't come." He closed his eyes and willed Bruce not to ask too many questions.

A pause. "Why not?"

Well, at least he owed him an answer to _that _question. "Team member in serious trouble. I'm really sorry, but we'll have to reschedule."

"You don't have to apologize for something like that. Do what you need to do."

He was on his feet heading for the exit before Bruce had finished speaking, a fraction of the tension draining away. "Thank you." Robin heard himself adding more words to that, rambling, pointless words that he felt like he had to say. "I really didn't mean for this to happen; this isn't more teen angst, I swear, and maybe later we can—"

_"Richard." _His tone was confident, firm, and for some reason exactly what he needed to hear. "Be careful; call me when you get it taken care of; _go."_

"Okay," he said, and he had to fight to make himself press the button that would end the call. Had to fight against the voice that wanted to drag Bruce out here no matter what important meeting he had, because he selfishly wanted him here _now, _so he wouldn't have to face a man who raped teenagers.

Robin snapped the phone shut.


End file.
